


The Champion

by HarmlessLandSquid



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And also a badass, Angst, Bad stuff still happens, Crossover, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Fix-It of Sorts, Humor, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Main character is a nerd, Modern Girl in Flotsam - Freeform, POV Multiple, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, character knows nothing about the game, not a self-insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-11-14 15:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 62
Words: 42,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmlessLandSquid/pseuds/HarmlessLandSquid
Summary: Maven is a modern women who finds herself transported to the world of The Witcher, but there's more to her than meets the eye.  Will she be able to handle a world full of monsters and devoid of indoor plumbing?  Will she ever get it on with a certain broody elf?  Time will tell.





	1. Prologue/ Once upon a time in a tower

**Prologue**

Maven ran through the moonlit forest. Branches whipped at her face and limbs as she attempted to outrun her pursuers. She heard the baying of dogs somewhere behind and to her left.

_Damn, why did they have to bring dogs._

Humans could be fooled by sight. A clever double back or hiding spot and she’d be able to lose them. She was good at passing unseen. Dogs were trickier. They hunted by scent and sound. She increased her pace; trying to make some distance so she could assess her surroundings and plan. Unfortunately, she ran out of ground before that could happen.

Maven pulled up short at a deep crevasse. In the dark, there was no way to determine how deep it went, though she heard rushing water below. Behind her she heard the shouts of men in pursuit getting closer to her position. There was only one choice. She wouldn’t let them capture her again. She hesitated a moment, uttered a silent prayer to St. Jude, and leapt.

**Chapter 1: Once upon a time in a tower**

King Demavend III of Aedirn climbed the tower steps.  He paused on a landing to catch his breath.  “Ploughing wizards.  Why do they always have to set up in the highest ploughing tower?” he muttered, “Rangot had better make this worth my while, for what I’m paying him.”

He finally reached the door to the wizard’s chamber and pushed it open.  “So, Wizard, have you found me my champion yet?”

“Everything is in readiness Sire,” said the fawning mage, “All I need is a drop of your blood and we will conjure you the greatest champion the Continent has ever seen!”

“Good, that last assassin got a little too close for my taste.”

Rangot had set up a series of bowls in a circle around a stone altar; each was filled with herbs, crystals, strange alchemical ingredients and who knew what else.  A single empty vessel sat on a stone pedestal next to a sharpened dagger. A beautiful piece of elven craft taken in a raid on the Scoia’tael.

“Here your majesty, just a small prick and let the drops fall into the bowl.”

“Play me false, Wizard, and I’ll show you a small prick,” said Demavend chuckling cruelly as he drew the dagger across his palm and wrung a few drops into the clay vessel.

He stepped away from the altar as Rangot began to chant.  One by one the bowls burst into flames until finally the bowl of royal blood lit up with a strange green fire.  Mist began to swirl at the center of the circle until it pervaded the whole room.  Demavend could barely see the wizard standing at his right hand.  Finally, a bright flash lit up the center of the altar and the fire in the bowls died.

As the smoke began to clear, Demavend could make out a small figure crouched on the altar.  He stepped forward.

“Careful Sire.  Who knows what powers and abilities he may possess?”

Demavend stared at the creature before him and then turned to Rangot.

“You imbecile.  You conjured me a girl.  She looks like a street urchin.”

The small women before him did look a resident of the lower quarters.  She was petite, with short curling dark hair that had become matted with sticks and leaves.  She was clearly a woman, as the swell of breasts could be seen beneath her thin shirt.  A brown leather jacket covered her arms and back and she was clad in strange blue trousers, which were ripped over her bloody and skinned knees.  He could find a dozen such in the city. 

“Looks may be deceiving Majesty.  Perhaps she is a powerful sorceress?” said Rangot, hopefully. 

“You girl.  Are you a sorceress?  Have you magic?”

The oddly dressed urchin tipped her dirty scratched face toward the king.

“Sorceress? Magic?  What are you talking about?” She looked confused and slightly dazed.

“And she’s a simpleton.  Wonderful.”

“My king, I’m sure given time she will recover her wits and serve you well as your champion.  The spell functioned as it was supposed to…” the wizard babbled.

The king grabbed the sorcerer by his collar.

“What did I say would happen if you failed me?” the king bellowed.  He grabbed his sword and ran the mage through before he could even begin to summon a sign.  The girl stared on in shock.

“Guards.  Clean up this mess and kill that bitch.  I can’t stand the sight of her.”

The king trundled out of the tower to leave the young woman to her fate.


	2. Not in Kansas

She was alive.  She was not at the bottom of a ravine and she had just watch a very convincing Renaissance fair player murder a man.  _Shit.  Frying pan. Fire._ Also, apparently people were now coming to murder her.  Maven had long ago learned to roll with whatever life threw at her no matter how bizarre.  It was why she was still alive and still free when so many others were dead or disappeared.  _Probably won’t be able to talk my way out.  Weapon._ _Escape._ She looked around the room.  She snatched up the dagger just as three armed men barged into the room. 

A quick glance out the window showed the height of the tower.  _Too far to jump.  Means I’ll have to go through them._   She felt a pang of regret.  She didn’t like killing people who were just doing their jobs.  _Won’t be the first time._      

“Pretty thing.  Maybe we’ll take our time first,” said the one on the left.

Any regret Maven felt promptly evaporated.  _Assholes._ The one in the middle began to approach her leering and removing his gauntlets.  They hadn’t even bothered to unsheathe their swords.  They didn’t see the knife clutched behind her back.  Once the guard was a few feet from her, she launched herself forward.  The dagger slashed across his neck severing the carotid artery.  She gave him a quick death despite what he had planned to do.  Her momentum bore him to the floor.  Then she sprang up and buried the dagger in the heart of the next guard as he struggled with his sword.  A quick tear and the blade was free again.  She turned toward the final guard.  He raised his blade and charged her.  She easily swept beneath his arm and came up behind him, then knifed him in the kidneys.  As he bled out, she released a sigh.

_They always underestimate me._

A further inspection of the room revealed a table with assorted odds and ends.  She found a cloth to clean the blade and a sheath for it that she strapped to her thigh. 

_Now to get out of here.  Wherever here is._

She peeked out the door and began to descend the tower stairs.  No one seemed to be around but it probably wouldn’t stay that way.

 _Eventually someone will come looking for those knuckleheads._  

Maven turned a corner and came out on some battlements and straight into the path of a squad of heavily armored soldiers.  She ducked behind a crate.  They hadn’t seen her, but there was nowhere to go.  Eventually they would run into her and she didn’t think she could take on that many with just a dagger.  Plus, she really didn’t like killing people if she could avoid it. 

Maven looked over the battlements to her right.  The river below seemed deep and the drop looked manageable. 

_Shit, here we go again.  Hopefully I don’t land on anymore weird tables._

She leapt.    


	3. Rolling on the River

Maven leaned back against the creaking hull of the ship.  After she’d landed in the river, she’d swum to the nearby docks and stowed aboard a large sailboat.  It had left port with the evening tide.  With Maven’s abilities, it was easy enough to stay hidden from the crew and pass unseen below decks.  She stole food from the galley when she was hungry and spent most to the time trying to figure out where she was.

She hadn’t had much success.  The sailors weren’t a terribly literate bunch and the conversations she’d eavesdropped on consisted mostly of debates on the merits of various prostitutes and which other crew member was a “tosser” or “knob.”

_I guess people are the same even in Renfair world_. 

Maven had taken to calling the strange land Renfair world.  She’d been to a few as a kid.  Some of her friends were into knights and damsels in distress.  She’d always wondered why people would want to simulate a world without indoor plumbing.  Indoor plumbing was glorious.  Speaking of which, she was starting to get pretty ripe.  Almost a week without a shower and her skin felt itchy. 

Maven decided that her best source of information on Renfair world was the captain’s cabin.  There would be books and probably a map.  Maps were extremely useful.  She snuck out of her hiding spot after dark when most of the crew were asleep.  She made her way to the aft of the cabin and slipped into the captain’s quarters.  He was snoring softly in his bunk.  Maven lifted a lantern from its hook and silently stalked to the desk piled high with charts and books.  She found the captain’s log open to the last entry:

_1271 6 th day of Imbolc_

_Smooth sailing down the Pontar.  7 days until we reach Flotsam.  Rations slightly lower than they should be.  Ploughing rats._

The Pontar and Flotsam were not places she knew.  The strange calendar and the year were also not encouraging. 

_Where am I?_

She moved the log aside and looked at the map beneath.  Nothing was familiar.  Either she was in the past on Earth or another place entirely.  The latter was looking more likely.  She raised the lantern higher to examine the map.  Someone must have seen it because the cabin door opened and a sailor armed with a cutlass entered the room.

“You there.  Who are you and what are you doing?”

Maven looked at the starboard window, heaved an exasperated sigh, and launched herself through into the river below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anybody have a better idea on the timeline for the Witcher 2? I tried to set things before Letho contacts Iorveth, but I had trouble pinning down the month for the start of the game. I ended up guessing.


	4. Walk the Line

Maven lay on the grass of the river bank.

_One of these days, I’m going to make an exit that doesn’t involve jumping and water.  At least I got that bath._

The boat had sailed away and dawn was just beginning to peek over the horizon.  She was starting to dry out and the dagger was still strapped to her thigh.  She’d been in worse situations, much worse.  At least no one was after her, probably.  She had killed those guards.  It was probably best to put some more distance between her and that angry king. 

Maven recalled the map to her mind.  She had a eidetic memory coupled with extreme hyperthymesia.  She could perfectly recall every book she’d ever read and remember every moment of her life.  The ability came in rather handy when trying to figure out directions.  It was less handy when you could remember the faces of everyone you’d ever killed at the exact moment you’d snuffed out their life.  Sometimes the pull of a memory was so strong she’d enter a trance-like state; reliving the event in her mind. 

_Everything has tradeoffs and there’s no use worrying about something you can’t change._

She started out vaguely in the direction of Flotsam.  If she kept following the river she’d eventually hit that town or another settlement.  Maven walked farther into the forest until she came across a trail, little more than a deer path that seemed to run parallel to the river.  She began walking keeping the sound of the river within earshot.

Maven hadn’t been traveling the path long when she began to get the sense that she was being followed. 


	5. This isn't Normal

Iorveth and his reconnaissance squad had been tracking the little dh’oine for three days.  She’d appeared in his forest as though she’d been dropped there by Dana Méadbh herself.  No human settlements were in that area.  The woman didn’t behave like a normal dh’oine.  She climbed up into the trees to sleep out of the reach of beasts.  Each morning she bathed completely in the river.  In Iorveth’s experience most humans didn’t bother.

_And smelled the worse for it. Disgusting creatures._

The male members of his recon squad had argued over who would keep an eye on the interloper during her baths.  In the end, Iorveth had assigned Elaine.

_At least she won’t be titillated by human breasts._

He had some delicacy, despite what the dh’oine accused him of.  

After her bath, the dh’oine woman would continue west; stopping to catch a fish or small bird for food.  She didn’t try to eat the plants, which led Iorveth to believe that she wasn’t familiar with the flora and didn’t want to chance poisoning herself.  This meant she was reasonably clever if uninformed.  What bothered Iorveth most about her was that she didn’t seem afraid. 

_Humans are supposed to be afraid here.  Of me, of my Scoia’tael, of monsters at the very least._

So, he continued to track her hoping she would do something to offer him a clue as to her motivations.  Was she a spy or merely a lost human woman?  

Finally, as the sun was setting on the third day she came to a stop in a clearing. 

“I know you’ve been following me,” she said turning toward where two of his archers were hiding, “I’ve known for a while.  Why don’t you come out?  I’m tired of sleeping in trees and I’m really hungry.”

_Bloede dh’oine_.  _She’s been leading us around by the ears._

He signaled Ciaran and Adair to step out of hiding with their bows drawn. 

“Hi there.  I’m Maven.  Those look really pointy.  I’d prefer you didn’t shoot me with them.”

_She’s insane, that’s the only explanation._

Elaine stepped out to the right of the dh’oine, opposite the men, with her bow drawn as well. 

“Oh there are more of you. Hi, Maven. Nice to meet you.”

Iorveth emerged from forest about twenty feet in front of the woman.  She was short for a human, barely reaching his shoulder, with short curly brown hair, and skin as pale as the petals of a celadine flower.  As he drew closer, he realized that skin was dotted with small dark spots like the coat of a fawn.  She looked harmless, but he knew that appearances could be deceiving. 

“Are you some sort sorceress, that you walk through my forest so blithely?” he asked.

“Why do people keep asking that?  Are sorceresses that common?  I’m Mav…”

“I heard you the first two times,” he replied harshly, “No sorceresses are not common and people keep asking because you aren’t acting like a normal dh’oine would when confronted with Scoia’tael alone in the forest.”

_Crazy woman. Doesn’t she understand the danger she’s in._

The woman looked slightly cowed for just a moment before her mouth started to twitch.  Iorveth thought she might be fighting the urge to cry.

_Gods. Maybe she’s finally getting it._

“What’s a dh’oine?”

Iorveth smacked his face with his palm.


	6. Straight-outta-Tolkein

Maven couldn’t believe what she was seeing. 

_They’re elves. Real live straight-outta-Tolkein elves!_

Maven had assumed the group following her were bandits at first, but when they didn’t attack right away; she’d revised her assessment to include the possibility that they weren’t necessarily malicious entities and had been content to let them follow her.  She’d decided to confront them mostly because she’d reached a critical point in the food and water department. She’d been boiling some of the river’s brackish contents but had only been ingesting small amounts because she didn’t trust it.  The plants she saw were unfamiliar so she didn’t know which were edible and she hadn’t been able to catch enough game to keep up with her higher than average metabolism.  Her stomach rumbled ominously. 

Maven needed these elves to trust her enough to give her some supplies and possibly answer her questions about Renfair world.  At least, she needed them to not want to kill her.  It seemed like she was failing at that given that the elf in charge, the one with the scarred face and red bandana, had his hand on his sword and looked like he wanted to strangle her.

_St. Elizabeth of Portugal, you promoted peaceful resolutions, please don’t let my first encounter with real elves result in death and dismemberment._

Not your typical invocation but this wasn’t a typical situation.

“Your ignorance is staggering.  I am Iorveth, Commander of the Scoia’tael in these woods and you are trespassing.  Tell me who has sent you to spy on us and I might yet spare you.”

He seemed to be getting more agitated and began to remove the sword from his sheath.

_I need to deescalate this._

She raised her hands palms out in a gesture of acquiescence and spoke calmly.  “No one sent me.  I’m lost and just trying very hard not to die right now.”

“Lost, you expect me to believe you?  There isn’t a human settlement for miles.”

He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at her.

_Please let him believe me.  I don’t want to hurt these people._

“I stowed away on a ship.  I was found and had to jump off.  Now I’m following the river to the next town…”

“Why did you stowaway?”

“I didn’t have money for the fare.” _Quit being a smart ass, Cardoza, it’s not helping._

He snorted.  “Logical, but that doesn’t answer my question.  The fact that you needed passage badly enough to stowaway implies that you either needed to get away from or to something in a hurry and were willing to risk hanging to do it. So, which is it?”

“Some people were trying to kill me.  I needed to escape.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to die.”

_Goddamn it’s like my brain and mouth aren’t connected._

 “Stop trying my patience, dh’oine.  It’s obvious you’re lying though I do not know to what purpose yet.  Adair, tie her up.  We’ll make camp here tonight.  Tomorrow, we’ll decide what to do with our little interloper.”

_OK, being tied up I can deal with.  Being tied up isn’t being killed or hurt.  Maybe they’ll even feed me and I can always escape if I need to.  Plus, maybe I can learn something about this place._

One of the elves, Adair apparently, approached her with his dagger drawn.  Maven held her hands out in front crossed at the wrist.  “I won’t fight you.  Can I just please have some food and water?”

The female elf and the other male elf had already gone off to prepare the camp site.  Iorveth nodded at Adair, “Bind her hands first then go help the others.”

Adair set to work on complex set of tight knots.  _Nice job, too bad they won’t matter in the end._


	7. Dinner...

_Do all dh’oine women eat this much?_

Iorveth was watching the small human woman devour her second bowl of Squirrel Stew.  They had taken to calling the mix of meat and foraged plants that they sometimes ate that even if it didn’t contain any actual squirrel.  Tonight’s consisted of rabbit and day-old partridge.  Ciaran had taken pity on the dh’oine and refilled her bowl when she continued to stare longingly at the pot.  She’s drunk half his waterskin as well. 

_She’s a little thing.  Where is it all going?_

The human, Maven, licked the bowl clean and emitted a contented sigh, then leaned against the rock at her back. 

_She’s fed and relaxed.  Now is the time to question her._

Iorveth often found that a gentle hand was often more effective at extracting information than a closed fist.  Perhaps now the chit would be willing to tell the truth.  He sauntered over to where she sat; then squatted down to bring his face to her level.  He rested his hands on his thighs. 

“Care to answer my questions now, dh’oine?”

Maven turned her face to regard him solemnly.  Her wide hazel eyes searched his face, as if trying to read his intentions.  She was a rather pretty thing, not beautiful, but interesting enough to look at if one liked human women, which Iorveth didn’t.  Her sweet face and large eyes made her seem innocent.  He imagined she used that to her advantage, lulling men into underestimating her.  Iorveth hadn’t lived this long by underestimating opponents.

“I assume ‘dh’oine’ means ‘human’? I also assume based on your tone that you don’t like humans?”

“Well done.” Iorveth slow clapped, “You may not be as irredeemably stupid as I first thought.”

She sighed, “I was telling you the truth before. I’m on the run from some people that tried to kill me.  I stowed away on a ship and then had to disembark before I was ready to.  I have no idea where I am and I’m happy to answer to the best of my knowledge any questions you have.  I hope you’ll be willing to answer a few of my questions. Nothing that will compromise your people, just general things.  I’m far from home and don’t know much about this place.”

Her response seemed genuine, but she could be pretending to acquiesce in order to extract information from him.  Iorveth would have to proceed carefully. 

“Why were these people trying to kill you?”

She frowned and contemplated the fire, considering her answer.

“I found myself in a fortress.  I think the guy in charge was disappointed.  He was expecting someone or something. I assume it was supposed to be impressive and he got me instead. There was another man, he kept saying something about a champion.  I think he was the one that brought me there.  The guy in charge killed him and then told his guards to kill me.  I escaped and the rest I already told you.”

It was a story full of holes, but he decided to focus on the most obvious one first.

“How did you escape?”

She continued to stare at the fire.  It was obvious she didn’t want to answer.

_Let’s see what lie she invents._

“I killed the guards.  There were three of them.”  Her eyes looked unfocused as she stared at the fire, almost as though she was in a trance.  She was silent for a moment and then turned towards him.  Her face had hardened.

“I didn’t want to kill them, but they were blocking my only way out and they seemed kind of rapey, so probably not a huge loss to humanity.  Still, I don’t like killing people and I try to avoid it when I can.”

Iorveth was amazed.  She said the words so baldly, like her killing three men was something she did all the time. He didn’t detect any dishonesty.  Either she was a very good liar or she was telling the truth. 

“Were they armed?”

“Yes, with swords.”

This dh’oine was potentially dangerous.  He glanced at his squad, obviously they had been listening to the conversation.  They had all stopped moving.  Fingers were inching toward bows and daggers. 

“You killed three armed men, but allowed Adair to bind you without protest?”   

“I knew those men planned to hurt and kill me.  What you plan to do remains to be seen.”

“You never said if you were a sorceress.”

“I’m not.  I don’t know anything about magic.”

She emphasized “anything.” A chill ran down his spine as he realized the obvious.

“You don’t seem concerned for your safety.  If we tried to harm you, what would you do?”

She sighed again and slumped her shoulders.  “I really hope it doesn’t come to that. I’m very tired of hurting people.”  The last was said in a whisper, almost like she was praying to her dh’oine gods.


	8. ...and a Show

_If he tries to kill me now, maybe I should let him._

How many people’s lives had she ended all because she didn’t want to die herself?  How many more would she have to kill or maim? 

_I’m already so far in the red. Maybe they’re right, maybe I’m too dangerous and the only answer is to put me down._

Iorveth had stopped questioning her.  Now he was speaking to his squad.  They were exchanging hushed and angry whispers about what do with her. 

“Could she be that dangerous? She’s so little and cute,” said the elf that had given her the stew.  He’d said his name was Ciaran.

“All dh’oine are dangerous. You know that,” said the woman, “Stop thinking with your dick.” 

“We should kill her now.  Whatever reason she has for being here, she’s got no useful intel,” said Adair. 

“Maybe we should just leave her here, tied up,” said the female elf. 

“But she might starve to death.  That’s cruel even for a dh’oine.”

They went back and forth for some time.  Iorveth remained silent, contemplating her with his one green eye. 

_I just need him to look away for a moment so I can escape without having to hurt anyone._

He didn’t though.  Maven was beginning to despair of finding a peaceful resolution, when the ground began to tremble.  The elves were too busy arguing to notice.  The trembling began to grow and was accompanied by the sounds of digging.

“Umm guys…can you feel that?  I think something is happening,” she called out.

“Shut up, dhoine,” yelled Adair right before a grey creature jumped out of the ground and tackled him.

Maven escaped from her bonds and looked for a weapon.  They had taken her dagger when they tied her up.  She saw it lying against one of their packs. She dove for it and her hand wrapped around the hilt just as one of the monsters grabbed for her ankle.  She jackknifed and buried the blade in the creature’s skull.  Whatever those things were, they were ugly and had lots of pointy teeth. Also, they stank. 

The elves had started to fight the monsters off with daggers and swords. Maven turned to flee the camp.

_They won’t be able to chase me when they’re preoccupied with these things._

Then her eyes fell on Adair.  He was pinned beneath two monsters.  He’d managed to get his bow between himself and their claws, but the monsters kept going after him with their gnashing teeth and he was clearly tiring.  The other elves were too preoccupied to notice their comrade’s struggle.

 _St. Christina help me.  I must be a madwoman._      

She sprinted towards Adair and slammed herself into the monsters.  The momentum of her body knocked the creatures from atop the elf and Maven went sprawling after them, rolling across the clearing floor. She landed in a crouch with the dagger still clutched in her hand. She stabbed the nearest monster in the gut and ripped upwards.  Its innards emitted a foul stench as they poured from the gash.

_God these things are gross._

Another two had begun to circle her where she stood.  When they pounced she spun to the right kicking out with a booted foot catching one monster in the face. It went down with a wet crunch.  She slammed the blade into the side of the other one’s head just above the ear. 

She was just turning to flee when she heard the draw of a bowstring.

“Going somewhere, dh’oine?”  


	9. Up to Her Neck in Nekkers

Iorveth trained his arrow on the little dh’oine’s back.  She dropped the dagger she was holding, raised her hands to the level of her shoulders, and turned slowly towards him.

“I thought I’d take a little stroll.  It’s such a nice night.  There’s a certain ambiance with the moon through the leaves glinting off all the dismembered monster corpses.” 

Iorveth had to work to suppress a chuckle.  Maven was covered in dirt and nekker gore, her curly hair was in complete disarray, and she had one of the deadliest archers alive pointing an arrow at her.  Still, she made jokes.

_She’s clearly insane, but it’s an amusing form of insanity._

He glanced at the nekker corpses around her.  Each had been slain with precise, deadly efficiency.  There was no evidence of flailing or hesitation.  Iorveth could easily imagine her taking out three human males with little trouble.  She was as dangerous as she claimed. 

_I really ought to kill her now, before she gets a chance to use that dagger on me.  Pity, waste of perfectly good stew._

He went to draw the bow the rest of the way, when Adair called out.  “Iorveth, stop!  The dh’oine saved me. She didn’t have to; she could have escaped, but she didn’t.” 

Adair approached him positioning himself between Iorveth and the woman.  Iorveth didn’t expect this. Adair was vehemently anti-human, even for a Scoia’tael, and he followed Iorveth unquestioningly.  For him to defend a dh’oine…

“Did you take a blow to the head?” Iorveth asked.  Adair did have quite a bit of blood dripping down his face.

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m saying this.  She took out two nekkers that had me pinned instead of running.  If we repay a service with bloodshed, we’re as bad as Nilfgaard.”

Iorveth sighed and lowered his arrow.  The man had a point.  Nilfgaard had repayed him with an empty eye socket, a scarred face, and a pile of dead comrades.  He wouldn’t sink to their level. 

He looked at the dh’oine.  She was doing that thing with her mouth.

“They’re called nekkers?”

“Yes”

“But they don’t have a neck.”

_The woman was clearly insane._


	10. Idiots

_Men are idiots_.

After the fight with the nekkers, Iorveth had gone to retrieve the rope that had bound the dh’oine and found it sitting on the ground, all Adair’s careful knots perfectly intact, she’d slipped them off as easily as a jeweled bracelet.  Adair was good at knots.  Elaine knew from experience.  “If we tie you up again, you’ll just get loose.  Won’t you?” Iorveth asked massaging his temples as if he had a migraine.  The woman had just smirked and shrugged as if to say, “It’s in my nature.”

_Men are such idiots._

After that, Iorveth had decided to escort the dh’oine, Maven, to the edge of the forest near Flotsam.  It wasn’t a bad plan.  Killing her would be difficult and ungrateful given that she’d rescued Adair.  Getting her out of the forest would prevent her from interfering in the Scoia’tael’s operations.  Still, getting her out of the forest was one thing while trying to get into her strange blue pants was another.

_Men are godsdamn idiots._

Elaine had watched as Ciaran flirted with the little dh’oine female.  He kept telling her funny stories about growing up in the nonhuman quarter in Oxenfurt.  She’d laugh and smile at him as he mimed running from an apoplectic dwarven shopkeeper.  At least she hadn’t seen them wandering out of camp in the evenings.  Small mercies.

 _Men are ploughing idiots._  

Even Adair fawned, asking Maven to teach him her skills with a dagger.  Most of the evenings in camp were spent with her showing him different holds and stances.  Elaine admitted that she was quite skilled and Adair had already improved under her tutelage.  Maven asked Adair to teach her to use a bow in return.  Elaine was shocked that she didn’t know how already, given that she seemed a proficient warrior.  After 15 minutes, Iorveth had intervened.  He insisted that Adair was showing her the wrong way.  So now the Scoia’tael commander was teaching a dh’oine woman how to shoot at tree knots. 

 _Men are ploughing, unmitigated idiots._  

At least Iorveth seemed mostly immune to her charms.  He watched her warily and when she tried to engage him in conversation he answered gruffly.  Maven had been clever though.  She’d asked mostly general questions about the Scoia’tael, the Aen Seidhe, the various kingdoms and heads of state; nothing that would compromise their operations.  Iorveth did love to talk politics and seemed to have found a receptive audience for his diatribes.  Even he was gradually warming up to her.

_Men are ploughing, unmitigated…_

“Elaine?”

Maven stood in front of her.

“What do you want, dh’oine?”

“Would you like help making supper?”  Elaine was breaking down a pair of ducks to add to tonight’s Squirrel Stew. 

“So, you can poison us all?”

“Why would I poison you?  You’re helping me.”

“Because you’re a dh’oine and that’s what dh’oines do.  You’ll take what we give you and then use it against us.”  Elaine threw down the knife she was using and got right in the little human’s face.  

“When I was a child a dh’oine military unit came to our village.  We gave them food and shelter.  When they left they decided to burn down the town so the advancing enemy army wouldn’t be able to use the remaining resources. They herded us all into a barn and barred the doors, then set it afire.  I only survived because some nearby Scoia’tael heard the screams and killed the humans before we could all burn alive.  As it was, my little sister died of suffocation from the smoke.”

Elaine looked at the little dh’oine.  Her face was solemn as she looked back with those big hazel eyes. 

“I’m glad the Scoia’tael killed those men, for what they did and what they tried to do. People like that should be punished for trying to hurt those weaker than themselves.  I’m glad you’re alright and I’m sorry for your loss.”

“You’re sorry for my loss?  I just told you that elves killed human soldiers and you’re glad?”

The human shrugged, “They were racist shitheads. I don’t tend to get along very well with racist shitheads, even if we do have the same-shaped ears.  But I get it, I probably bring up a lot of bad memories for you so I’ll leave you alone.  Thanks for being willing to tell me that, though”

The human started walking away.  Elaine debated for a moment; she felt like a nekker’s ass. 

“Hey dh’oine,” she called out, “How about you make yourself useful and put those knife skills towards peeling potatoes?”

Maven turned around and grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

_Maybe she’s not so awful…but men are still idiots._


	11. He Shot Me Down

“Draw back smoothly in one motion.  No, your elbow should be higher.  Yes, like that.”  Iorveth corrected Maven’s stance guiding her elbow up with the tips of his fingers.  She didn’t really need him to.  Her advanced muscle memory, which developed more quickly than an average human’s, meant that she’d acquired the skill after only a few lessons.   However, she pretended to be worse than she was, acting as though she could barely hit the target.  Maven had done that most of her life anyway to avoid suspicion, and the speed with which she mastered most skills tended to raise suspicions. 

Maven remembered when she was 8 years old and her abilities had manifested.  She’d been so afraid that she was a freak.  She’d gone crying to her mother.

_“Hush, sweetheart,” she’d said while rocking Maven on her lap, “Everything will be alright.  Your father and I will show you what to do.  We’ll teach you to use your gifts.  You’ll learn how to use them for good just as we did”_

_She’d looked in Maven’s tearstained eyes then, “But you must be careful.  The world isn’t always kind to those that are different and there are those who are afraid of the gifted.  We must always be careful.  You’re a smart girl.  Trust your instincts.  They’ll keep you safe.”_

Her mother had called their family’s strange abilities “gifts.”  They didn’t always feel like gifts. Maven had spent most of her life wearing a mask, pretending to a little slower, a little dumber, a little less than she actually was.  Now she was doing it again, although the compensation was a bit more pleasant this time. 

“Breath out as you release.  Good. A little to the left next time.”

Maven enjoyed learning a new skill, and archery would likely prove useful in her current environment.  Of course, the fact that she was spending time with a certain Scoia’tael commander while doing so was an added bonus.  She’d asked Adair to teach her to shoot, but Iorveth had intervened quickly, stating, “You’ll shoot yourself in the foot the way you’re holding that bow and I have no intention of carrying you to Flotsam.” 

Iorveth really was a good teacher and Maven found that she liked him, despite his prickliness.  He was an intelligent man with an acerbic sense of humor.  She relished their rapid-fire conversations and found herself constantly trying to draw out a sardonic smirk or a brief chuckle. 

_And he’s easy on the eyes as well._

Maven liked more than Iorveth’s mind.  She’d read her fair share of fantasy and elves were always beautiful in the stories.  It turned out they were in real life as well.  Ciaran, Adair, and Elaine were all lithe and gorgeous.  They didn’t hold her attention though, Iorveth did.  Despite the damage that she was sure was concealed by his bandana, she wasn’t put off.  Strangely the scars didn’t detract from his beauty, rather they grounded it.  If the other elves were beautiful, he was hot. 

_Deliciously smokin’ hot.  I wonder how far down that tattoo goes…bad Maven. Stop objectifying him. Besides, he hates humans._

Maven sighed.  Iorveth’s hatred of humans was like Newton’s first law of motion, an incontrovertible fact of the universe.  Nothing was going happen.  He might eventually regard her as something approximating a friend, but that would be the best she could hope for.  Anyway, she was unlikely to see him again once they reached Flotsam.

“Maven…are you paying attention?  Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“Which word are you referring to?  You’ve said a lot of them lately.  I think I heard a few articles, some nouns, maybe an adjective…”

“Cheeky dh’oine. Try taking a few steps further back.”

Maven glanced at Iorveth.  The corner of his mouth was curved up ever so slightly. 

  _St. Jude, I’m hopeless._


	12. A Fireside Chat

“So, what do you intend to do when you get to Flotsam?”

Iorveth watched Ciaran engage Maven in conversation on the opposite side of the campfire, while he chewed on the end of his empty pipe.  Her bow skills were progressing rapidly under his tutelage.  Surprising that she’d never learned how to use one given her skills at hand-to-hand and with a dagger.  She was now almost passible at shooting immobile targets.  If she were an Aen Seidhe he’d have tried to recruit her for the Scoia’tael. 

“I don’t know. What sorts of jobs do people do there?”

Of course, she wasn’t an Aen Seidhe, which meant that once she was in Flotsam she’d be just another human among many.  A pity that.  He looked forward to their political discussions each day.  Her ideas on representative government were fascinating. 

_Perhaps I should introduce her to Saskia._

No, that was foolish.  Tomorrow they would reach Flotsam and she would be able to make her own way. He wouldn’t see her again except from a sniper’s vantage point.

“I don’t think I want to hunt monsters.  The nekkers were gross enough and I definitely don’t I want to work for that Loredo guy.”

“Why on earth would you tell her to work for Loredo?  The man’s a racist dog,” said Elaine.

“She’s a warrior, what else is she going to do,” countered Ciaran.

“Actually, I’m not a warrior.  At least that wasn’t what I was trained to do,” replied Maven looking sheepish.  Iorveth’s ears perked up.  The woman rarely spoke about her past other than to say she was from “very, far away.”

“Could have fooled me,” quipped Adair.

“To paraphrase one of my favorite authors, those that don’t know how to wield swords can still be killed by them.  I learned to fight out of necessity, but not because I enjoy it.”  His Scoia’tael made sounds of agreement.  They knew that the defenseless often ended up dead or at mercy of men like Loredo, who thrived on fear and misery.

“Wise words,” said Iorveth, joining the conversation.           

“For a dh’oine,” she quipped smiling at him. 

“Even dh’oine are occasionally correct.”

“I’ll have to make note of the date and time you conceded that.”

“I concede nothing,” he said smirking around his pipe.  “So, what did you train as, if not a warrior?”

“I was a teacher and a scholar I guess.  I studied biology, the science of living things, genetics and biochemistry mostly. I tried to figure out why people got sick and how to make them well again.  I was trying to develop a cure for a specific rare form of cancer, when…my research was interrupted.”

“So, you’re an alchemist then.”

She bristled at that, “I didn’t use magic and the things I made had to actually work rather than just being hoaxes foisted on desperate people.”

Iorveth had hit on a nerve there.  He wanted to prod it further since the little dh’oine was difficult to fluster.

“Yes, I’m sure you never took advantage of the gullible for a few orens,” he drawled sarcastically. 

Her eyes flashed with anger. “My mother died of cancer.  My work was in her memory, so no one would have to go through what she went through.  What we went through.”

The campsite descended into awkward silence. 

“You should speak to Anezka,” said Ciaran.  “She’s the local herbalist and she’s always busy.  She might be willing to hire you on as an assistant.”

“I’ll consider it.  Thank you.  I think it’s time I turned in.  Goodnight all.”

The rest of the Scoia’tael murmured goodnights.  Anezka would be a good choice, they had an understanding.  Lobinden was a little ways from Flotsam, which would keep her out of the way of Loredo and his men.  That would be better as the dh’oine seemed to attract trouble like a magnet.  Also, the Squirrels had a less hostile relationship with the village.  He wouldn’t want to expend all this energy getting her to safety only to have her end up on the point of one of his men’s arrows.

Elaine settled next to him.  She was older than him by a number of decades and he appreciated her counsel. 

“That was unkind, Iorveth.”

“I thought you didn’t like her.”

Elaine snorted, “She’s gentle, for all that she could gut us like fish. Besides, she’s growing on me.  Bit like a fungus, but still.”

Elaine patted him on the shoulder.  “I think she’s growing on you too.”


	13. So Long and Thanks for All the Fish

“Well I guess this is my stop.”

The Flotsam docks were a short walk down the path and the Scoia’tael didn’t wish to venture any closer.  Maven had come to like all of them in the week and half they’d been wandering the woods.  Ciaran pulled her in to an overly enthusiastic hug.  “Go see Anezka and tell her I sent you.  She’ll give you a job.”

“You seem to know her pretty well.  Do you need to visit an herbalist that often?” Maven teased.  Ciaran just winked.

Adair griped her forearm in a modified handshake.  “I owe you a debt.  Don’t hesitate to call on me if you are in need.”

“Thank you and remember when you’re wielding a dagger it’s the acceleration not the velocity.”

Elaine punched her lightly in the shoulder.

Then she came to Iorveth.

“Stay away from Loredo’s guards.  They have no respect for women.  And stay out of the forest.  I don’t want to have wasted my time teaching you archery and dragging you halfway across the Pontar Valley just to have you shot by one of my own men.  Don’t…”

“Iorveth, I’ll be careful.  Thank you for everything.”  She held out her hand.  Iorveth hesitated a moment and then gripped her small palm within his larger gloved one.  “Good luck and godspeed, Iorveth.”

“Va Faill, little dh’oine.  Try not to get yourself killed,” Iorveth said ruefully.

“I will be the soul of good judgement.”    

“I very much doubt that.”

With that Maven turned and started down the path to Flotsam.  As she was about to turn the final bend she looked back toward the Scoia’tael.  They were already gone.  It was as if no one had ever been standing there at all.


	14. Working Girl

Anezka worked the dried cortinarius with her mortar and pestle.  Between Loredo’s soldiers always getting into scrapes, the contraceptives required by the brothel, and the venereal disease treatments required by the brothel’s patrons; she barely had time to preform her devotions to Veyopatis.  There weren’t enough hours in the day to gather herbs, prepare them, concoct her potions, and then deliver them to her customers.  She rolled her shoulder and set to work again on the dried mushrooms, when she heard a knock at the door. 

_What fresh hell is this?_

Anezka wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door.  A small human woman stood outside. 

“I’m all out of the celadine tea and if you need something for the clap your man brought home from the brothel I’ll need at least 3 days to gather more bryonia.”

The girl blinked a few times.  “You seem busy.  Maybe I can help you with that.  My name is Maven.  I’m looking for a job.  I have some experience with making potions.  I’m not familiar with the plants around here but I’m a fast learner and if you have some identification guides I should be able to…”

“Can you boil water?”

“Yes.”

“Grind herbs?”

“Yes.”

“Walk across town and count orens?”

“Yes.”

“You’re hired.”  Anezka handed Maven a smock.  No one wanted to work for her.  They all thought she was a witch and whispered about her Veyopatis worship.  If the woman wanted work outside the brothel bad enough to brave the rumors, Anezka wasn’t going to turn her down.  If she was stupid enough to try and steal from Anezka, she would deserve what she got.  

“Start grinding those mushrooms into a fine powder.  I can’t pay much and I won’t tolerate any nonsense.  20 orens a week plus you can keep any tips for deliveries.  The hours will be long but its honest employment.”

“Meh, I went to graduate school,” the girl said under her breath.

Maven set to work on the mushrooms.  “I’m new in town.” she said, “I went by the inn looking for a room but it seemed kind of…sketchy.”

Anezka snorted.  She didn’t know what “sketchy” meant but she could gather the sentiment.  It seemed like half the women in Flotsam were prostitutes and the other half were housewives. 

_If I have to listen to Kiara complain about her “old man” one more time I will gut someone._

There weren’t a lot of opportunities for an independent woman.   

“Viktor and Marcin have a room for rent since Mira moved out.  They live just down the lane.  Actually, I need to take Marcin his arthritis tonic later.  Why don’t you do that and see if they’ll have you?”

“Alright, is this fine enough?”  Anezka looked in the mortar.  The mushrooms had been reduced to a fine, uniform powder.  The girl had good hands.  This might work out. 

“Now I need two pails of water from the well.  Be sure to boil and strain them once you get them back.”

The girl grabbed the pails and headed out the door.

 _This might work out quite well_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anezka takes no shit.


	15. The Normal Hearth

After a day working for Anezka, Maven was worn out.  She’d at least provide Maven with a lunch of bread and cheese, though her stomach was grumbling again.  _Don’t think about cheeseburgers or french fries or ….Dammit._ Now she was headed to Viktor and Marcin’s house, with a basket of salves and some vials of tonic for Marcin’s arthritis. 

_How very Red Riding Hood of me, walking down the lane with a basket of goodies.  I really hope they let me rent from them.  I thought I was going to get hepatitis just looking at that inn._

Not that she had a problem with prostitutes.  Though there did seem to be an inordinately high number of prostitutes for a town of Flotsam’s size.  _Weird._ She just didn’t want to hear them while she was trying to sleep or smell them when she was trying to eat dinner.

_Seriously, someone needs to get on inventing indoor plumbing stat._

Maven preferred Lobinden to Flotsam by a wide margin.  It was built right up against the walls of Flotsam, an arrangement that reminded her of the Liberties in Dublin, but it felt like a different world from the city.  While Flotsam was loud with sound reverberating off its stone surfaces, Lobinden was quiet, muted by the large trees that intermingled with the houses of the village.  It smelled like a forest too, dirt and damp and pine needles.  She recalled a cabin that her parents had rented in the Berkshires one summer.  It had a similar feel. 

_I’ll probably never go back there.  Well, if I was still on Earth I’d probably be dead or locked behind an electrified fence, so either way was I wasn’t going to get back there._

Maven knocked on the door.  It was answered by an elderly human man with a cane and twinkling blue eyes.

“What can I do for you dear girl?”

“Are you Marcin? I’ve brought your medications from Anezka.”

“Oh, come in. Glad Nezzie finally found someone to help her around that shop.  The girl was like to run herself ragged.  I’ll just be a moment.  I need to fetch your payment.  You don’t look familiar.  Are you from Flotsam, dear?”

“Take your time.  I’m Maven.  I’m new in town.  Actually, I wanted to ask you about a spare room you might have for rent?  I need a place to stay.”

“I’ll have to talk to Viktor about that.  Ah here he is…Viktor, come meet Maven.”

A tall blonde male elf walked into the room.  It was impossible to tell his age.  Ciaran had explained that elves didn’t age the way humans did and that they could live for centuries, whereas most humans didn’t live much past 50 unless they were Witchers or sorceresses.  Maven still wasn’t clear on what a Witcher was.    

“Hello Maven.  I don’t believe we’ve met?” said Viktor pleasantly.

“No, I’m new to Lobinden.  I just started working for Anezka and I’m looking for a place to stay.  I heard you have a room to rent.”

“And I’m sure you’re no longer interested now that you’ve met us, so…”

“Wait, why wouldn’t I be interested?”

“Because we’re a pair of mixed-race poufters,” replied Marcin proudly.

“Oh, I don’t mind.  Is that a problem here?”

“Yes,” said Viktor.

“Do people take issue with the mixed-race part or the gay part?”

“Both,” they replied in unison, chuckling as they met each other’s eyes.

“Well, as long as the room is cleaner than the inn.  I’ll have no issues.”

Viktor wrinkled his nose, “You set a low bar.  That place is a pig sty.”

“Literally,” said Marcin, “I think Marty used to keep hogs on the first floor.”

Maven saw the room and they settled on room and board.  She joined the couple for supper.  Marcin was an excellent storyteller and he recounted some more colorful incidents from Lobinden’s past.    

“And there was Cedric in the middle of the town square, stark naked and he just walks home like there’s nothing unusual about it.  Says good morning to Chorab’s wife and asks after her husband like it’s any other day.” 

“I remember, me minne, she was trying so hard to look at his face I thought she’d sprain an eye socket.”

“That’s one hell of a walk of shame.”

Mira, whose old room she was staying in, was Viktor’s daughter from a previous relationship.  She’d recently married and moved to another city with her husband to get away from the racial tensions in Flotsam.  Marcin promised to help her alter some of Mira’s old clothes to fit her, which was good because her T-shirt and jeans were hanging together by threads.  After dinner, Viktor helped Marcin to bed and then went to help Maven with the dishes.

“How long have you been together?  If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Marcin will be 67, so…45 years.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Yes, at first watching him age and knowing I’d likely outlive him was difficult, but over time I’ve come to realize that we’ve actually aged and changed together.  Marcin’s aging is just more obvious on the surface.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“Have you ever been married, Maven?”

“I was engaged once, but it didn’t take.  We were too different I suppose.”

“He was Aen Seidhe?”

“No, human.  Our differences weren’t on the surface.  They ran deeper.  He just didn’t realize it.  I hope if I ever do marry.  It’s as good a relationship as yours and Marcin’s.”   

“You’re very kind.”

As she lay in her bed, Maven breathed a contented sigh.  She was fed and warm.  She had a job and a place among good people.  She felt safe for the first time in over a year.

_St. Christopher, thank you for bringing this traveler to a safe harbor._


	16. Into the Woods

Cedric had told the little dh’oine to stay out of the forest today.  The Scoia’tael were restless.  They had killed a berry picker just the other day and had rearranged several of Cedric’s traps so that formed they the shape of a phallus with “Cedric sucks nekker cock” spelled out with twigs and berries below the twigs and berries.  They enjoyed toying with him since he’d left the Squirrels.

_Bunch of bloede morons.  I’m getting too old for this shit.  I should be halfway through a bottle of vodka not chasing after some girl with a death wish._

Cedric finally saw her picking flowers near the waterfall.  He liked the girl.  She was pretty and polite even to an old lush of an elf like himself.  She’d bought a simple wooden bow, a few arrows, and a pair of leather pants from him the other day.  Maven was kitted out with all three and the effect wasn’t bad.  The leather pants clung to her rather shapely posterior as she bent over the flowers.  Any other time he would have spent some time admiring the view.  He was only elven after all.

“Maven, go home.” He hissed.  “The forest isn’t safe for dh’oine today.”

“Petra is due any day now.  We’ll need extra white myrtle and verbena on hand and the patches closer to the village are completely picked over. Besides, I have some theories about willow bark that I want to test…”

“Enough foolishness.  It’s time to go.”  He grabbed the girl’s arm, firmly enough to move her but not enough to harm her.  An arrow struck the ground at his feet, trimmed with the tell-tale green feathers of the Scoia’tael.

“Gods dammit.” He drew his sword.  “Maven, stay behind me.  Let me do the talking.”  Cedric was shocked when Iorveth stepped out of the bushes. 

_He doesn’t usually concern himself with lone defenseless dh’oinne.  They’re beneath his notice.  Perhaps he wants to talk me into joining up again or berate me for living in the village?_

“Iorveth, let the girl go.  She’s harmless.”

“Harmless?” Iorveth smiled sardonically, “Have you fooled them all so well, little dh’oinne?  She’s about as harmless as an endrega queen guarding her nest.”

“It’s not like I go around stabbing things everyday just to prove I can.  I’ll leave that to you,” groused Maven.  Cedric looked back and forth between them.

“I told you to stay out of my forest.  It’s dangerous for you to be here.” 

“I needed herbs for a pregnant mother. Besides, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.  You said so yourself.  Am I dangerous or helpless, Iorveth?  You can’t have it both ways.”

“Even the deadly can still take an arrow to the back.”

“Then I’ll have to trust you not to shoot me.”

“Trusting me would be very foolish indeed.”

Cedric was very confused.  Maven had moved from his shadow. She and Iorveth were basically ignoring him.  “You know each other?”

They both looked towards Cedric as if they had forgotten he was there.  “I’ve had the occasion to meet Maven before.” Iorveth eyed him coldly.  “You should take better care of your pets in the village, Cedric, or does the bottle take up too much of your time?” 

Cedric felt his blood boil with rage.  “You have no idea what it’s like. My visions…”

“Yes, well, my vision is a bit more limited than yours, but it doesn’t take a seer to see that you’ve fallen down on the job.  Here woman, if you are going to insist on visiting the woods wear this.”  He handed her a red scrap of cloth.  “Tie it around your upper arm and my men will know you have my protection. Now go both of you.”

With that Iorveth stalked off, seemingly melding into the underbrush.  Cedric turned to Maven.  She was running her thumb along the red cloth.

_Did Iorveth just berate me for not protecting a dh’oine?  I am far too sober for this._

“Maven, what just happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I don’t think you need to worry about me when I go herb-picking anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always liked Fenris wearing Hawke's favor in DA2, so I stole it. Sorry, not sorry.


	17. The Merchant of Flotsam

Maven walked the streets of Flotsam towards the nonhuman quarter.  Her borrowed skirts brushed against her brown leather boots.  She’d kept wearing her boots from Earth.  Insole technology hadn’t progressed very far in Temeria, which was where she was apparently.  Maven thought about what her former mentor would say about her current state, Dr. Cardoza, holder of PhDs in Genetics and Biochemistry, making deliveries for an herbalist while dressed as a medieval peasant.

_He’d probably laugh and quote Shakespeare at me.  “Maven, in peace there’s nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility.”_ _Too bad there’s more to that quote._

“But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger,” she whispered.  Flotsam was definitely a city at war, with itself as well as an external foe.  Marcin and Viktor had cautioned her not to wander too far into the forest when gathering herbs because of the Scoia’tael; they’d been just as emphatic about her avoiding Loredo’s garrison.  Apparently, the fact that she was rooming with the couple might make her a target for the racists that tended to populate his guard. 

Maven entered the home of Flotsam’s dwarven and elven population.  The streets became narrower, close-built rickety buildings blocked most of the sunlight, and a feeling of fear pervaded the ghetto. 

_People are the same everywhere.  They hate and punish anyone who’s different._

Maven walk purposefully to the home of Einar Gausel.  She knocked on the door.  “It’s open,” called a voice from within. 

_So, dwarves do have Scottish accents? Weird that the Lord of the Rings people got that right._

Maven entered the small shop and was delighted by what she saw within.  She drew a deep breath inhaling the scent of paper and ink, “Books.  You have so many books.”

“Yes.  Try not to touch them.  They don’t react so well to rough handling.”

Maven couldn’t believe her luck.  She’d read most of Anezka’s modest collect of herbals and tomes on arcane religions.  “I brought your inks from Anezka.  Do you sell these?  Do you have anything on history?  I don’t have much money…”

“You can read?”   

 “Of course.  ‘A beggar’s book outworths a noble’s blood,’” she quoted the Bard, once again thinking of her mentor.      

“A worthy sentiment, unfortunately not a common one in Flotsam. Einar Gausel, a trader in old curios, although I also concern myself with the nonhuman community.  And you are?”

“Maven, I work for Anezka.  I’m new to Flotsam.  I didn’t know there was a bookshop here, but I’m glad I found you. How much for this one?”  She lovingly ran a finger over the spine of a book, “The Conjunction of the Spheres.”  It had been mentioned in some of Anezka’s books, but with little additional information.

“Weighty reading for a lass.” Einar regarded her for a moment, “Where do you hail from that you’d be interested in such things?”  Maven had invented a story for just such a question.  An amalgamation of half-truths and outright lies that was just plausible enough to pass muster.

“I’m from far across the sea.  My father was a scholar and made sure I had an education.”

_Not a complete lie, just a modification of the facts._

“And how does the daughter of a foreign scholar end up the errand girl of an herbalist in Flotsam?”

“I ran into some trouble back home. A suitor was being a bit too persistent.  My parents had passed on, so there was nothing to hold me there. I boarded a ship and ended up in Flotsam by chance.”

_People generally ask fewer questions when you bring up dead parents._

“I’ll tell you what.  You can borrow that tome provided that when you finish it you come back here and discuss it with me.”

“That’s all.  I just have to talk to you?”

“Intelligent conversation is harder to find here than coin lass.”

Maven was inclined to agree. 


	18. Red is the Rose

Maven peeled bark from the willow tree.  Her initial experiments had proved her hypothesis.  The willow trees here contained salicylic acid just as they did on Earth.  Now she just needed purify the extracts and convert them to aspirin.  It would be incredibly useful for treating fevers.  Medicine and pharmacology seemed to be woefully underdeveloped in Temeria.

_Probably an overreliance on magic.  Too bad the common folk typically can’t get access to a sorceress or wizard._

Maven had come to the waterfall to gather more samples.  She’d just finished removing a good-sized piece of bark when she heard scratching in the underbrush.  A nekker emerged from the bushes. 

_Yuck, not these things again.  At least it hasn’t seen me, yet._

Maven took an arrow from her quiver and notched it in her bow.  As she began to draw, the nekker realized her presence.  It began to bound toward her, drool dripping from its fangs.  As she released the arrow, a second bolt flew from the trees behind her.  Both projectiles buried themselves in the nekker’s skull.

Maven turned around.  _I thought I heard something._

“Are you following me, Iorveth?”

He jumped down from the branch of nearby oak tree. “It’s hard to ignore your presence when you tramp through the woods like a drunken endrega. Your aim has improved.”

“I had a good teacher.”

“You’re a fast learner.  Come. It isn’t safe here.  Nekkers always travel in packs and there will be more before long.”

Iorveth led Maven up a path next to the waterfall.  They clambered up rocky ledges until they reached a plateau at the top of the hill.  They passed through a stone archway into a clearing centered on a large stone statue of two elven lovers embracing surrounded by bushes of beautiful red roses.

“It should be safe here; the monsters avoid Cáelmewedd.  The scent of the roses of remembrance are said to repel them.”

“It’s beautiful here.”  Maven inhaled the fragrant scent of roses and marveled at the finely wrought sculpture.  The entire place seemed to exude an aura of calm.

“It was once much more.  A reminder of all my people have lost.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.  Sorrow is unproductive.  It will do nothing to secure a place for the Aen Seidhe in this world.  If I achieve nothing else…but enough of that. I see you at least remembered the token even if you are foolish enough to return to the woods.”

Maven ran her fingers across the red band on her arm.  “I’m pursuing a line of inquiry that will hopefully allow me to make a powerful potion to reduce fever and inflammation.  I needed more samples.”

“So, you are faring well in Lodinben?”

“Yes, I’m working for Anezka and I’m renting a room from Viktor and Marcin. Cedric’s been helpful with finding ingredients”

Iorveth snorted. “Cedric used to be one of us before he answered the call of the bottle.”

“He told me.  Oh, and I met this dwarven bookseller…”

Iorveth’s eyes narrowed, “Tell me you are not associating with Einar Gausel.”

“I’m not associating with Einar Gausel,” she mockingly parroted, “but I am.  He’s loaning me books.”

“The man is a collaborator.  He’s a traitor to the Aen Seidhe.”

“He just does things differently from you.  He’s trying to work within the system to make things better for the nonhumans in Flotsam as opposed to trying to stick arrows in everything.”

“Ha, is that what he told you? He gives Loredo’s regime a veneer of respectability by working with them, while effecting no difference in the lives of the nonhumans of Flotsam.  A few months ago, several elven women disappeared.  Loredo said they disappeared into the forest, fell prey to or joined my commando.  Gausel propagated his explanation unquestioningly.  He never did anything to try and find out what happened to them.”

“I’m guessing you know better.”

“They never entered the forest. I know it, Loredo knows it, and Gausel knows it.”  Iorveth paced in consternation, “I’m certain Loredo had something to do with it, though I have been unable to find out what. I have a limited reach in the town.”

_I don’t know how to resurrect the elven culture, but I know something about finding missing people.  This I can help with._

“Maybe I could do a little digging? I sometimes make deliveries to his compound.”

“It’s far too dangerous.  Loredo is not to be trifled with.”

Maven regarded Iorveth with a sly smile.  “I’m small and nonthreatening and very good at passing unnoticed.  Loredo won’t even realize that I’m investigating.  Besides, you know I can defend myself.” 

“You use your size and appearance to your advantage.”

“I work with what I have.  If I was an elven guerilla commander I might take a different tack.  I might cultivate an image of implacable ruthlessness to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies.”

“Point taken,” Iorveth shook his head and half smiled, “You are perhaps the strangest dh’oinne and definitely the strangest alchemist that I have ever met.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said with a grin.


	19. She's Fine

Iorveth made his way back to the Scoia’tael camp dragging the unconscious nekker.  His encounter with Maven had been unsettling.  Her archery had improved by leaps and bounds.

_She took down that nekker without a thought, but she could barely draw a bow when we met.  She’s more than a mere alchemist.  There’s something I can’t quite put my finger on..._

“You look like you’re trying to solve the mysteries of mysteries.  Oren for your thoughts?” Ciaran leaned nonchalantly against a tree. 

“Nothing of any importance, Maven sends her regards.”

“Nothing of importance my pointed ear.” Ciaran teased “Good for you finally deciding to see what’s in those blue pants.  It’s not good for you to go so long without…”

“Sheyss Ciaran.” Iorveth barked at his second, loud enough that several of the others looked up from their tasks.  “Thaesse.  I ran into her by chance, gathering herbs.”

Ciaran looked at him like he believed that as much as he believed in flying rotfiends.

“Anyway, she was set upon by a nekker.  I took her to Cáelmewedd to wait them out, when…”

“Wait you took her to the most romantic spot in the whole forest and you didn’t plough her?”

Iorveth was getting a headache.  “We just talked,” he said through clenched teeth. 

Ciaran continued to needle him. “Yes, you talked about how much she likes your thick eleven…”

“She’s going to look into those disappeared girls,” Iorveth quickly interjected.

Ciaran rapidly grew serious.  “So, you didn’t plough her.  Instead you sent her on a dangerous quest that will run her afoul of Loredo. That’s likely to get her killed!”

Iorveth looked uncomfortable.  “I sent her to speak to Cedric and Seherim, Moril’s beau.  That’s likely as far as she’ll get. She’ll be fine.”

“And if she does end up on Loredo’s gallows it will be your fault.”

“She will be fine.  Now if you excuse me, I have an arachas to feed.”  Iorveth stormed off dragging the unfortunate monster.

_Maven’s a smart woman. She’ll be fine. I’m sure she’ll be fine._

Translations

Sheyss = dammit

Thaesse = shut up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a friend like Ciaran.


	20. Oh Danny Boy

How does this always happen to me?  One minute I’m enjoying an ale and chatting up a very nice, well-endowed lady.  The next minute I’m hiding in a hooker’s privy.  It all started this morning… 

I began my morning/early afternoon ablutions and noticed a slight tingling in my nether quarters, likely due to several nights spent with the women of Flotsam.   For a town its size, there seems to be an unusually large number of prostitutes.  Anyway, I made my way to the house of Anezka, a local herbalist in possession of a rather fair figure, to remedy the problem.

However, when I arrive at her Lobinden hovel, I do not find the fair Anezka, but rather an equally fair young woman hanging bundles of herbs from the rafters. 

“And who might you be?”  The young woman swooned at my feet….

_I did not swoon._

_You absolutely swooned_

_You wouldn’t know a swoon if it bit you in the…._

_Hey, who’s telling this story?_

_You’ll be telling it to the back of my hand if you keep this up._

_Ok, fine._   The young woman looked at me ador… _Hey_ …skeptically. _Better_.  “I am Dandelion, noted bard.  Perhaps, you’ve heard of me?”

“Your name is Dandelion?”

“Yes, sweet lady.”

“Seriously, your parents named you Dandelion?”

“Well no, Dandelion is my nom de plume.”

“So, you chose the name Dandelion?”

 “Yes.”

“Of you own volition? No one had a crossbow to your head?”

“Entirely of my own accord.”

At this the pretty, young lady began laughing hysterically. “Of all the names in the common tongue,” she wheezed, “you chose ‘Dandelion’?”  She began cackling anew. 

“I’m sorry,” she said wiping tears, “I’m Maven, Anezka’s assistant.  How may I help you, Dand…” At this she dissolved once more into giggles. “I think I’m just going to call you Dan.  So, what can I do for you Dan?”

The way she said the shortened version of my name was so charming I immediately forgave her previous risibility.  Plus, I’ve always liked women with freckles. 

_You like all women._

_Too true._

“I require help with a delicate matter...”

“Drop ‘em”

“Is that really necessary?”

“I have do see what I’m dealing with.  Otherwise I might give you the wrong salve, which could make matters worse.”       

I undid my trousers “I really was hoping to undress in front of you under more agreeable circumstances.”

_I still can’t believe you said that._

_Hey nothing ventured…_

“Did you just hit on me while I’m checking you for VD?”

“Possibly, did it work?”

The young lady looked at me with her left eyebrow raised.  “You have crabs.”

“So that’s a maybe.”

“You are a pathological optimist.  Take this and apply it to the area twice daily for the next 10 days and maybe reconsider some of your life choices in the meantime.”

“And you should consider coming to the tavern later.  I play there most evenings and it’s not a bad show if I do say so myself.”

“That will be 2 orens and please pull up your pants.”

Later I returned to the tavern to find the husband of another lady whose company I enjoyed.  He apparently also had some unwanted guests in his trousers.  Hence the hiding in the privy.  I wonder if the herbalist’s assistant will stop by tonight.

_You are incorrigible._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dandelion breaks the fourth wall in the game so I decided to have him do so here as well.


	21. A Third Wheel

Later that day Maven lay on a rug in front of the fire reading the book she’d acquired from Einsal.  Viktor smoked his pipe, while Marcin knit something in an alarming shade of purple.  They’d received word that Mira and her husband were expecting their first child. 

Maven turned the page. “The cataclysm commonly known as the Conjunction of the Spheres happened one and a half millennia ago. A cosmic collision of several parallel universes, this disaster left numerous creatures not native to our reality trapped here.” Maven’s eyes widened.

_What the hell._

“The elves claim that humans also arrived in this world during the Conjunction. This occurred soon after they managed to destroy their own world. The elves claim that it was during the Conjunction that humans learned to use magic.”

_So, humans arrived here during the cosmological equivalent of a five-car pileup. I wonder if its anything like what brought me here…_

“So, Maven,” said Viktor, breaking her out of her musings, “anything interesting happen today?”

Maven related some of the notable events of the day finally describing the strangely named Dandelion to Viktor.

“Yes, I’ve heard him play. He’s quite good.”

“He invited me to hear him at the tavern, but I think he was just hitting on me.”

“That’s the boy’s way.  He’ll plough anything with tits, but he’s harmless.  You should go anyway.  You’re a young woman. You shouldn’t spend all your evenings reading by the fire with two aging queens.”  

“Speak for yourself,” said Marcin with mock irritation, “You make be old, but I’m still in my prime.”

Viktor lifted Marcin’s hand to his lips, “Indeed you are, me minne.”  He looked at Marcin with a certain amount of heat in his eyes. 

Maven close her book.  “Ok, I can tell when I’m being a third wheel.  I’ll see you two later.  Much later.”

Maven grabbed her cloak and sauntered down the lane towards Flotsam.  It was just coming to dusk and the torches were being lit.   She found her way through the lanes of Flotsam.  With the coming twilight and the light filling the windows the dingy town looked almost cozy.

Maven opened the tavern door as the sounds of music and laughter poured out from within.  She crossed the threshold just in time to step into the oncoming fist of a mohawked dwarf.


	22. A Box Just for Wishes

“I’m sorry lass I didn’t see you there. Casimir tried to cheat me at dice poker.  Damn slippery blighter dodged right past you.”

The girl was on her arse clutching her stomach.  “I heal quickly.  Buy me a beer and we’ll call it even,” she wheezed.  Dandelion walked over and gave her a hand up.  “Ah, Maven.  You made it and I see you met Zoltan.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.” She still looked a little green.

“Zoltan Chivay.  May I present Maven, Anezka’s lovely new assistant.”

“And how did you come to meet Maven? Come down with the doxy pox again?”

“That’s not…”

Maven giggled. She was a wee thing with curls that came just past her jaw and big hazel eyes that danced when she laughed.  The lass seemed to be recovering quickly.  _I must have pulled that punch a bit_.

“Come join us,” said Zoltan, “It’s the least we can do after subjecting you to my fist and the lad’s nethers.”

Maven smiled, “I would be delighted to join you.”

They settled at a table and Zoltan ordered a round of drinks. 

“So, Maven, I hear you’re new in town.  Where are you from and how did you come to Flotsam?”

_The lad is the worst damn spy._

“Well, I’m originally from across the sea.  I ran into some trouble back home and ended up here by chance.”

“Really, because I’ve heard a few interesting rumors…that you’re actually an illegitimate Koviri princess or a 500-year-old sorceress in hiding from a rival…”

“If such rumors exist, you probably started them,” she pointed out. “I’m not nearly interesting enough to warrant that kind of speculation.”

_She’s got the lad by the short hairs. Ha._

“I think you overestimate how interesting Flotsam is.  You know. I am always looking for new songs and I haven’t heard many from across the sea. Perhaps you could share one with us.”

The lass was blushing. “I don’t really sing in public.”

“Come now, I won’t judge.  I don’t expect your voice to be as fine as mine. I’m just curious.”

The lass was staring at the table looking embarrassed. “Leave her alone Dandelion. She doesn’t want to.”

“No, it’s all right.  Just let me think which one.”  Maven took a swig of ale and then began in a quiet slightly husky alto:

_If I could save time in a bottle_

_The first thing that I'd like to do_

_Is to save every day_

_'Til eternity passes away_

_Just to spend them with you_

 

The lass had her eyes closed, as if to block out the room. 

 

_If I could make days last forever_

_If words could make wishes come true_

_I'd save every day like a treasure and then,_

_Again, I would spend them with you_

Her voice was not so fine as a bard’s, but at the same time Zoltan couldn’t find anything lacking in her performance.

 

_But there never seems to be enough time_

_To do the things you want to do_

_Once you find them_

_I've looked around enough to know_

_That you're the one I want to go_

_Through time with_

The room quieted as she continued and by the end the whole tavern was listening.  As she finished the song, a few patrons gave a smattering of claps. “Bravo,” said Dandelion.  The lass turned beet-red.

 

“Now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself, I expect a story about your adventures in return.”

 

Dandelion regaled them with stories of their past escapades including several with a certain witcher.

“The sylvan had Geralt trapped.  I interposed myself between him and the beast which I smote with nothing but my lute.”

“If that happened then I’m the queen of Redania. So, what is a witcher anyway?”

Zoltan was shocked.  “You don’t know what a witcher is?  They’re mutants made to hunt monsters.  They have glowing golden eyes, magic, and are immune to most poisons.  They’re mostly orphans taken in and trained to be fierce fighters, then subjected to strange magical rituals.  Most of them are right bastards, but Geralt’s a decent sort.”

The lass gulped.  She looked shocked and horrified. “They do that to children?  They make them into mutants?” Dandelion interjected, “Many say it’s a necessary evil….”

The tavern door opened with a bang and the crowd grew silent.  One of Loredo’s men barged in and nailed a poster to the wall.  He turned and addressed the crowd, “King Demavend III of Aedirn has been assassinated by magical forces.  All traffic from Aedirn will cease for the time being while the killer is sought.  Go about your business.”

Maven walked slowly toward the poster.  The lass looked transfixed.  “You,” she said as she stared at the face of King Demavend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Zoltan makes his appearance! The song is "Time in a Bottle" by Jim Croce. Maven likes the classics.


	23. Penicillin and Democracy

Maven carried the crate of salve through Flotsam towards the garrison.  Recent events had given her a lot to think about.  She now had a better understanding of the Conjunction of Spheres and Witchers. A few games of dice poker with Einar had proved illuminating as well. 

“Einar, do you think it’s possible for something like the Conjunction to happen again?”

“I’m no wizard, lass.  I suppose anything is possible.  Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.  I was wondering what the causes were, if it could reoccur, and what would come though if it did?”

“An interesting idea, that would be something to discuss with a sorceress.  Loredo’s hired one to deal with the kayran.  She’s due to arrive soon, perhaps you could ask her.  I wouldn’t worry, though.  Nothing like that has happened in a very long time.”

Maven had been through a decent chunk of the history section in his library.  Evenings spent with Zoltan and Dan in the tavern had brought her up to speed on current events and politics.  She liked the two, although now Dan was constantly needling her for more Earth songs.

_It would serve him right if I taught him nothing but Nickelback.  At least I’ve mostly been able to beg off singing in public.  I used to need way more booze before I’d do karaoke._

Also, Maven now knew the identity of the Renfair player in the tower, Demavend, the ex-king of Aedirn who had apparently been murdered.

_What goes around, buddy.  I guess you shouldn’t have looked a gift champion in the mouth._

However, her new knowledge just left her with more questions and untestable hypotheses. How had she arrived there? Was it possible to go back? Did she even want to?

 _Temeria needs Google…and the Internet…and computers….and many other things like penicillin and democracy._   

Maybe she’d work on penicillin after she finished her aspirin trials.  The rats she’d given it to didn’t seem to mind it, although Anezka was horribly confused.  Still, she’d given her bread to feed them while Maven explained positive and negative controls. 

_I think she just wanted me to shut up._

Maven came to the gates of the compound.  The guards let her through with a minimum of ogling and didn’t even check her for weapons.  She had her elven dagger hidden under her skirts.

_They never learn._

Maven had spoken to Seherim and Cedric.  Seherim knew nothing but Cedric had confirmed Iorveth’s suspicions about Loredo after consuming enough vodka to drop an elephant.

_I wonder if they have elephants here.  I should borrow a book on zoology next._

She’d tried to speak to Iorveth about her investigation, but Elaine had said he was away on a mission.

_You just wanted an excuse to talk to him and maybe stare and drool a little._

Now Maven was crossing the courtyard heading to the storage area at the back of the compound.  As she passed beneath a window the commandant’s mother called out to her.

“You girl.  You work for that herbalist. Come here. I’ve a job for you.”

Maven set down the crate. She walked up the stairs to the upper floor.  Marietta Loredo met her on the landing, blocking the doorway with her bulk.  “I need these things. Bring them around by the end of the week and there’ll be extra in it for you.”

Maven looked at the list, which was written in a childish scrawl.

_Endrega embryo_

_White myrtle_

_Green moss_

_Essence of water_

_These are all ingredients for a potion to promote a healthy pregnancy.  What the hell can she want that for?_

Then Maven heard a low moan and a dull thud from somewhere behind Marietta, who turned and muttered, “Damn elf whore.”  She turned back to Maven.  “You didn’t hear nothing,” she said menacingly and slammed the door.

_Well that wasn’t remotely suspicious.  Whatever is going on in there can’t be good. Even if it has nothing to do with Moril and the others I need to investigate._

“Oy, you girl,” called one of the guards, “Take that crate around back no dawdling.”

_I’m only going to get one shot at this.  I need to come back and with more firepower._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the Loredos are kind of dumb criminals and that they'd feel pretty confident that no one would question anything they did, so they'd rely more on intimidation than subtlety.


	24. Meanwhile, at LaValette Castle…

Iorveth watched Letho climb the path from the beach to the keep.  Soon he’d be within striking distance of Foltest and bring their careful plans to fruition.  No dh’oine would be untouchable to the Scoia’tael, even if he wore a crown.  Iorveth scanned the landscape for foes and departed with a detachment of his men.  The one’s left by the boats would secure Letho’s escape.  Meanwhile, he’d use the time to sow chaos and allow the bald witcher to sneak inside the keep.  

The dh’oine soldiers they encountered proved to be unseasoned.  His battle-hardened freedom fighters made quick work of them.  Only the sudden appearance of the dragon saved they from total annihilation.

_Hello Saskia or should I say Saesenthessis._

While Iorveth cleaned the blood from his sword, he thought of Maven and Saskia.  Neither would likely approve of his current course of action.

“You will always be considered a terrorist if you keep acting like one,” Saskia would say.

The two women were remarkably similar.  Both were skilled, intelligent warriors and both were selfless and empathetic in their desire to help others.  Iorveth was troubled by what Ciaran had said after his last conversation with Maven and he was troubled by the fact that he was troubled.  

_Maven is like Saskia, except the Virgin of Aedirn has the benefit of being a dragon and the leader of an army.  Maven is just a small dh’oine with a sharp knife.  A skilled fighter but most definitely, vulnerably human.  Her circle consists of an herbalist, an aged human and his elf partner, a drunkard ex-Squirrel, a book merchant, an idiot bard, and a world-weary dwarven veteran._

If she got into trouble looking for those missing girls, Zoltan and Cedric might be worth something in a fight, but the rest would be worse than useless.  Iorveth would never be able to get into the town.  He was too recognizable and Loredo’s guards were too numerous.

_I won’t be able to help her.  Who knows what Loredo would do to her, the man’s a swine._

_Since when do you care what happens to a dh’oine.  Especially one that flouts you at every turn.  She’s constantly invading your forest and fraternizes with traitors and deserters._

_She’s aided my men before.  She’s offered to aid me now in exposing Loredo._

_If she’s successful it will be a great recruiting tool among the Aen Seidhe in Flotsam and if she’s caught, what’s one dh’oine less?_

_That’s not…And now I’m talking to myself.  Wonderful._

Iorveth consoled himself that Maven would probably never get anywhere on the matter with the elven women.  Margot hadn’t and she had much better connections.  He’d get in touch with Maven when he got back.  He’d tell her to drop the matter. 

_As if she’ll listen to you.  As if you aren’t just looking for an excuse to see her again._

_Sheyss, I’m hopeless._     

Translations

Sheyss = dammit


	25. Mold Farming

Azkena sorted through her stock of wolfsbane.  She would need to gather more soon.  The already tense situation in Flotsam had escalated recently.  She’d been selling salves as fast as she could make them and more than the usual number of brutalized weepy elven girls had come to her door asking about her “special” tea. 

_Those men are an affront to the Gods. Sex should never be used in such a way._

Maven had proven to be a godsend.  The girl was smart. She never brought back the wrong plants once she’d seen the illustrations in Anezka’s herbals, and that fever and pain reducing tonic she’d developed was proving to be a bestseller.

 _Makes up for the damn rats.  I just wish she’d come up with a better name.  “Aspirin” doesn’t have the same ring as “Tawny owl.”_  

The situation in Flotsam obviously bothered Maven.  She was gentle with the elves and dwarves that came to their door and mumbled about poor parenting every time the little girl across the lane yelled, “Get Iorveth.  Death to the Squirrels.”

_There’s a story there.  Though how an elven terrorist secured her sympathy I’ll never guess._

Now the girl was cultivating mold.  She had dishes of old food and even dirt sitting out to see what would grow.  Maven said the mold might have properties to fight infections.  The smell was terrible but Anezka was willing to tolerate it.  Maven’s theories had proven correct last time.

 _She has a good mind and a good heart.  I should pray to Veyopatis on her behalf.  Maybe if she got laid she wouldn’t be so obsessed with fungus._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two short chapters. I love writing Anezka.


	26. A Reunion

Maven straighten the last of her targets.  She’d set them up in the woods not too far from the village.  She counted off fifty paces and turned flicking a shuriken so that embedded deep into the tree bark. 

_Berthold did a good job.  The balance is nice._

She’d also whittled some blow darts that she’s then dipped in a knockout poison.  She’d found the recipe in one of Anezka’s herbals and it seemed to work well and nonlethally on the rats at least.

_Hopefully I scaled up the concentration appropriately.  I should check my calculations one more time._

She was just about ready to sneak into Loredo’s house.  It would be fight night in a few days, so Loredo’s men would be distracted and mostly paying attention to the area around the caves beneath the compound.  She’d cased the walls and memorized the guard rotations. 

_Now I just need to find out what happened to those girls and what the hell’s going on in Loredo’s quarters._

Loredo kept his quarters locked and few had the keys, but she had fashioned a set of lockpicks from thin strips of metal.

_I think I’m ready to go._

Maven released another shuriken. It hit home with a satisfying thunk.

“What are those?”

Maven turned around with a bright smile.  “Iorveth, you’re back!”

She quickly checked herself.  She’d missed running into him in the forest, but that didn’t mean he felt the same way.  In fact, the opposite was likely.

_He’ll huff and puff and tell you to get out of the woods again.  Giving him a welcome back hug is probably a good way to get stabbed._

“Elaine mentioned you were away.  They’re shuriken.  Throwing stars meant for stealth attacks.”  She held up one for him to see, then showed him how she flicked them into the targets.  He walked over and took one from her. His gloves brushed against her bare palm and Maven felt her stomach wobble a little bit.  He was standing close enough that she could catch his scent.  The aroma of pine, leather, and clean sweat predominated with a slight undercurrent of sandalwood.

 _Mary Magdalene, no man should smell this good._     

“Ingenious, but why do you need them?”

“I’m going to sneak into Loredo’s compound soon and hopefully I won’t need them but I wanted to be prepared…”

“You’re not going to Loredo’s.”

“…you know just in case…excuse me.  Why not?”

“It’s unnecessary.  I’ve had others with far better connections than you investigate and they’ve turned up nothing. All you’ll do is get yourself killed.  Plus, plans are already in motion that might be upset by…”

“Oh, so now that its inconvenient for you, you’re prepared to write these girls off just like everyone else,” Maven glared at Iorveth.  “These girls have been forgotten and abandoned by everyone except Seherim.  I’m not going to abandon them, too.  They deserve the truth to be told.  They deserve justice.”

At this point, Maven was standing inches from Iorveth and poking him in the chest to punctuate her words.  For a moment, he looked surprised and then his anger asserted itself.  He wrapped his hands around her forearms.

“You are in over your head, little dh’oine.  I have been tolerant of you, but don’t forget who you’re dealing with.”

“I know exactly who I’m dealing with.  Do you? Do you know what happens to the people that underestimate me, that think they can control me?  I’m not one of your Squirrels, Iorveth, you have no say in what I do.”

Iorveth stepped back and smiled cruelly. “There it is.  The same arrogance as every other dh’oine that thinks they know better than the elves do for themselves.  I knew it couldn’t be too far below the surface.”

Maven’s anger cooled and hardened in steel, “I may not know all about the long sordid history elves and humans, but I do know something about sacrificing people and calling it ‘acceptable losses’ in the fight for the greater good.  Eventually you turn around and there’s no one left to save.”

“Fine,” Iorveth said heatedly, “Throw your life away.  Just don’t expect the Scoia’tael to rescue you this time.”

Maven watched Iorveth stalk off into the forest.  With a cry of frustration, she hurled another shuriken into a target.

_Well that reunion could have gone better._


	27. Dead Man Talking

Maven walked back to Lobinden in a huff.

_Arrogant elf doesn’t know what he’s talking about._

Still, his words bothered her.

_Am I being meddlesome because I think I know better what the elves need? No, I know what it’s like when your people disappear without a trace.  The families deserve closure if nothing else._

Maven had spoken to the girls’ family and friends.  Most of them didn’t expect their loved ones to be found alive, but the not knowing was its own form of agony.

_If I’m in a position to ease their suffering I should take the chance._

Maven had just reached Anezka’s door when Viktor came running over.

“Maven, I just had word from Flotsam.  Dandelion and Zoltan have been arrested.”

“You’re kidding.  What are the charges?”

“Zoltan is accused of collaborating with the Squirrels.”

“That’s nuts.”

“Dandelion is accused of debauchery.”

“That is…much more believable, but still stupid.”

“He may have also burnt down a guard tower.”

Maven facepalmed, “Oh Danny.  Do you know where they’re being held?”

“There’s a guard house with some cells near the docks.  I’m guessing they’ll be there.”

Maven thanked Viktor and hurried into Anezka’s shop.  Anezka looked over at her.  “I heard.  There’s a basket there with bread and meat and a bottle of vodka to bribe the guards.  They might let you in to see them if you say you’re bringing food.” Maven gave the herbalist a bright smile.  “Go on now.  I’ll need you later to distill that essence of water.”

Maven hurried to the guard house. “Hello there lovely.  What are you doing here?” asked one of the louts Loredo employed as guards.

“I have some food for the prisoners,” she withdrew the vodka from the basket. “And something to help you gentlemen pass the time.”

“Well aren’t you a sweet thing? This one knows just how things ought to be done lads,” he said taking the bottle from her.  “Go on now. Go see the wretches.”  Another guard smacked her on the ass as she passed through the doorway.  It took everything she had not to stab him in the eye.

_Later, talking now. Stabbing later._

Maven approached the cells.  In one was a terrified pair of elves, while the other held Zoltan and Dandelion.  Her friends didn’t seem like they’d been roughed up too badly.  The feather in Dan’s cap had been bent and Zoltan’s sleeve was ripped but otherwise they just looked like a slightly more disheveled version of normal.

Dandelion jumped up from the straw. “Maven, are you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Lass you shouldn’t be here,” Zoltan said.   

“Are you both alright?”

“Bah, Loredo probably just wants to scare us a little and maybe extort a bit of coin. We’ll be out in a day or so,” said the dwarf. 

“Okay,” said Maven, “If you start to get worried though let me know and I’ll get you out of here.”

“How could you possibly do that?” Dandelion asked skeptically.

“Let’s just say I know my way around a lockpick.”

Dandelion grinned, “I knew you were more than a simple herbalist.  So, what are you? A Nilfgaardian spy, a master thief, perhaps the castoff mistress of a…”

“Dandelion hush,” said Zoltan trying to calm the young man, “You’ll attract the guards with your blather.”

“Actually, I’m an oncology researcher.”

“I have no idea what that is.  It’s also difficult to rhyme.  Are you sure you’re not a spy?”

“Absolutely positive,” she deadpanned, “Now I brought you some food…”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to trouble you,” said the elf woman in the adjacent cell, “but no one has come with food for us in three days and if you could spare a little…”

“No one has fed you in three days?”  Maven looked at the woman.  Her cheeks were hollow and her complexion was wan.  Her hair hung in greasy strings around her face.  Maven gave her the majority of the basket’s contents.  “I’ll be by tomorrow with extra.” 

“Remember,” she said turning to Zoltan and Dandelion, “Get word to me if you think this is more than a simple shakedown.”

They both agreed and Maven left the jail dodging the groping hands of Loredo’s guards. 


	28. A Public Enemy

Maven awoke the next morning to a commotion outside her window. 

“They’re to be hanged.”

“Well good riddance to the dwarf, but I did enjoy the boy’s lute playing.”

_Oh St. Dismas, let me be in time._

Maven rushed to pull on her pants and the rest of her clothes.  She grabbed her shuriken and strapped her dagger to her thigh. Then she threw a cloak over her shoulders and ran from the room.  Viktor grabbed her by the arm before she could reach the door.

“I have to go,” she said struggling out of his grip.

“I know.  Here, take these,” He pressed several small round objects into her hand.  “They’re smoke bombs.  Light the wick and throw them out if you need a distraction.”

Maven looked at him questioningly.  “Cedric’s not the only one who used to run with the Squirrels,” he said with a grin.  Maven gave the elf a hug.  “Be careful, me weddin, don’t let them catch you.”

Maven smiled, “I never do.”  She ran toward the square.  Many of the residents of Flotsam and Lobinden had already gathered around the scaffold.  Dandelion, Zoltan, and the two elves from the prison had already been fit with nooses.  Maven positioned herself in an alley with a good view of the scaffold.  She drew her hood up and palmed a shuriken and a smoke bomb waiting for an opportunity, when a strange hooded figure approached the scaffold.  Dandelion called out to him, “Geralt! Geralt! Over here! Help!”

_So that’s the Witcher from Dan’s stories.  Maybe he can talk some sense into these idiots, or at least distract them long enough for me to get them down._

The Witcher engage one of the guardsmen in conversation, riling up the crowd against them.  The brothel madam, Margot made certain implications about the man’s prowess in bed, much to the delight of those assembled.

_Good one Margot.  Don’t let them hang your best customer._  

Eventually the guard had enough and threw a punch at the Witcher.  Everyone was focused on the fight so Maven began to inch closer to the scaffold.  At that moment, the hangman decided he was tired of waiting and he began to walk toward the lever that controlled the trapdoor beneath the elven girl. As he reached for the lever, Maven let the shuriken loose and rolled a smoke bomb beneath the platform.  The projectile neatly severed the rope so that the elf fell through the trapdoor into the haze of smoke that had formed below the scaffold. She dove beneath the platform and threw her cloak around the girl; then led her out the back and away from the raucous crowd. 

The gate to Lobinden was unguarded as everyone had gone to see the hanging and subsequent brawl.  Maven turned to the girl.  “Go to Marcin and Viktor.” Maven said, “They’ll hide you.” The girl nodded and ran through the gates. 

_One down now for the rest._

Maven made her way back to the square.  Geralt had already dispatched the guard and the executioner.  Now he was engaged in conversation with a portly, bald man, Bernard Loredo. 

_Shit. Loredo brought a crap ton of guards.  That makes this more complicated._

The crowd had pressed into the scaffold on all sides, eager to hear the commandant’s conversation.  The edges of the square were empty and an attack from distance wound likely result in Loredo’s many guards converging on her position.  Maven began working her way through the packed crowd, when she heard Loredo.

“I’d rather give you a thief.  Relax I’m joking…”

_No no no no!  I can’t get there!  No room to throw._

Loredo kicked the lever.

“I hate thieves.”

The elf’s neck snapped and he hung limply from the scaffold.  Loredo leaned in and whispered something to the Witcher.  Then he addressed the crowd. 

“King Foltest is dead. It’s likely that Scoia’tael had a hand in this heinous murder. So, you see, none of you can feel safe.”

_Racist asshole.  Give them blood and then stoke their fears.  Its Demagoguery 101._

“That is why today, wagons with armaments will roll out into Flotsam’s streets. I hereby declare a state of emergency. Await orders, prepare to fight, and ready yourselves to avenge your fallen king.”

_St. Teresia Benedicta, he’s fomenting genocide._   

Loredo spoke to the Witcher again and the crowd began to disperse.  Maven just stood there.  Her stomach was in the vicinity of her shoes. 

_It’s always the same.  Even in a different dimension, it’s always the same._

In a daze, she walked towards the tavern and ordered a whiskey.  It was rotgut and burned on the way down but she barely felt it.  Maven contemplated the empty glass with a steely gaze.     

_I’m going to stop it.  This time, in this place I’m going to stop it._   

Translations

me weddin = my child, diminutive form; kiddo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Geralt, the witcher enters the story. I will try to keep the quoted dialog from the game to a minimum, just what's necessary for plot and character development. Loredo's speech seemed to fall into that category.


	29. Life After Near-death

I’ve had many narrow escapes, but never quite so close as I did that day on the scaffold.  Thanks to Geralt, the world retained one of its greatest poets.

_Ha._

After our brush with death, Zoltan and I adjourned to the tavern for some much-deserved libations.  We were accompanied by the Witcher, the always luscious Triss Merigold, and my employer at the time, Vernon Roche of the Temerian Blue Stripes. 

_You just can’t help yourself._

_I have no idea what you’re talking about._

Upon sitting down, we were approached by Maven the lovely, _and somewhat mouthy,_ herbalist.

“What the hell you two!  You said you’d send word if you were actually in trouble.” Maven stood by the table dressed in a fetching pair of leather trousers topped with a plain linen blouse and a many-pocketed vest.  Her arms were crossed under her small, pert breasts...

_My breasts are irrelevant to this story._

_I’m setting the scene.  Oww, stop pulling my ear…owww._

… while her face bore a look of consternation. 

“Ah lass,” said Zoltan, “There wasn’t time.  We didn’t know what was going to happen until we were practically on the scaffold.”  

“Besides, it all worked out in the end. Thanks to Geralt,” I said clapping the Witcher on the shoulder.

“It didn’t ‘work out’ for everyone,” Maven muttered darkly. 

Geralt had been appraising Maven during this time and now addressed her. “The body count could have been higher. I wonder who that elf maiden’s mysterious benefactor was?”

“No idea,” Maven said evenly.

“Yes, I suppose we’ll never know,” Geralt replied, his golden eyes gleaming with mirth. 

“You’re the Witcher from Dandelion’s stories,” the woman said warily.

He inclined his head, “Geralt of Rivia.  And who might you be, good lady?”

“Maven, I assist the local herbalist.” 

At this Roche turned his penetrating gaze on the girl. “How would an herbalist be able to help two men condemned to the gallows?”

Maven answered sarcastically, “Perhaps I have a potion that can make people behave like rational beings instead of animals.”

Triss smiled, “If you could do that, I’d buy a whole crate and dump it in every well I could find.”

“Well if you both are alright I’ll take my leave.  I’m late for work.”

Maven sashayed gracefully out the door.  Her fine posterior swaying with each step…

_Oww, was that really necessary?!_

_Yes._

After Maven left, we began conversing on the state of Termeria and Geralt’s quest to clear his name.  Unfortunately, we were interrupted when the Kayran, a large tentacled beast decided to attack the harbor.  Geralt,Triss, and Zoltan ran outside.  I was stopped by a painfully tight grasp on my wrist.  I looked into the unforgiving eyes of Vernon Roche.

“Sit down, and tell me all you know about this Maven.”


	30. Life on the Lam

Maven returned home.  Marcin had hidden the girl, Alis away in a cupboard with a false back.  Maven didn’t want to think about why they had that.  She changed into a dress and went about her day as she normally would so as not to raise suspicions.  Loredo’s guards primarily focused their search in the non-human quarter, although a few ventured into Lobinden.  She returned home and ate a quick dinner.

“Does she know what she wants to do?” she asked Viktor and Marcin.

“Said she’d join up with the Scoia’tael. After everything, I can’t blame her,” said Marcin. 

Viktor looked out the window, “Cedric says there’s a contingent down by the ruined bridge.  He passed them word and they’ll be expecting you.  It looks like the guards have all left.”

Maven waited until dark and then led Alis through the outskirts of the village.  She could make out Cedric and Seherim on the catwalks above.  Usually one of the village men was stationed on the trailhead leading out toward the troll bridge.  Tonight, it was empty.

_St. Brigid, patroness of fugitives, bless them._

Maven and Alis stealthily made their way to the bridge.  Despite all that she’d been through, the girl was swift and sure-footed.  When they reached the bridge, several Scoia’tael revealed themselves.  Alis embraced Maven before being led away into the forest twilight.

“Do you think you did her a favor?  Bringing her to me.”

Maven turned around to find Iorveth standing arms crossed leaning against a broken pillar wearing his signature sneer.

“A life on the run is better than no life at all.”

“You say that as if you speak from experience.”

“I do.” Iorveth regarded her for moment and then his expression softened in a way Maven hadn’t seen before. “Maven, about the last time we spoke, I…”

He seemed to be having trouble finding the right words.

Maven intervened, “I was speaking from experience the other day as well.  I can’t let this go, Iorveth.  To have someone you love just vanish, as if they never existed and know that those in power had something to do with it but that you can’t prove it or stop them.” She shook her head in despair. “It’s hell.” 

Iorveth studied her, “Who did they take, Maven? A lover? A brother?...”

“Everyone,” she whispered. Her voice filled with fear and sadness, “They took everyone.  The old, the young, the strong, the fast, the clever, until all that was left were those of us on the margins, just trying to stay alive.  Eventually, they even took me.” Maven paused to wipe her eyes.  “But I got away.  I’m free now and I won’t ever go back.  And I’m going to find out what happened to those girls.”  She looked at Iorveth with fierce determination as if daring him to contradict her. 

Iorveth walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.  He was a point of warmth in the cool night air.  A slight smile pulled at his lips.  “Yes, you will.  Of that I’m fairly certain.” He squeezed her shoulder and walked off into the forest after his men.


	31. Where's Ciaran?

_They took everyone._

Maven’s words echoed in Iorveth’s head as he stalked through the forest.  It brought to mind the Massacre of Hydra Ravine.  He knew what it was like to be the only one still standing.

_We have that in common._

Iorveth felt like the image of her tear-filled eyes were permanently burned into his remaining retina.  He’d never seen her cry before, not when she’d been lost in the woods, not when he’d threatened her life, and not when they’d fought.  Tears didn’t typically bother Iorveth.  He’d talked many of his men through despair and grief.  He’d even shed a few himself after beloved comrades had gone down on the points of dh’oine swords.  Still, Iorveth had rarely reacted so viscerally to another’s grief.     

_I wanted to comfort her.  I wanted to hold her and tell her that I’d protect her, maybe run my fingers through those curly locks.  Instead, I go in for the continent’s most awkward shoulder pat._

Still, the fact that this unknown entity from Maven’s past seemed to terrify her gave Iorveth pause.  The woman didn’t get scared easily, even when she ought to be.

_Maybe I should ask Margot to keep an eye on her…Gods what is wrong with me!  She’s a bloede dh’oine and a lethal, capable one at that.  She doesn’t need my help and probably wouldn’t take it anyway._

Iorveth walked up to Elaine.

“What do you make of the new girl?” he asked.

“Alis, she’s raw but motivated.  I think she’ll work out fine.  How did your chat with Maven go?”

“What makes you think I had a chat with Maven?”

“You never go on these recruiting runs anymore.  Then, you hear a certain dh’oine might be there and you just have to oversee the thing personally.”

Iorveth grunted, “We spoke.” 

“Did you make up after whatever you said last time?”

“Make up?” Iorveth looked at her incredulously. 

“After the last time you spoke to her, you came back to camp, hacked a training dummy in half, and then proceeded to berate Adair for 20 minutes for insufficiently reinforcing them. So yeah, I think you two had a fight.”

“And it had to be because of something I said?”

She slung an arm around his shoulder, “I know you, Iorveth, when you think you’re right, you’re like a werewolf with a human leg.”

Iorveth sighed, “I tried to get her to stop pursuing those missing girls.  She won’t.  It’s become personal for her.”

“She’s smart.  She’ll be fine.”

“Elaine, how many smart people have we known that never came back from a mission?” 

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “By the way, where’s Ciaran? I’m expecting a report from him.”

“He said he had something to take care of.  He should be back soon.”


	32. I Hate This Bar

Vernon Roche didn’t often spend his time in taverns.  The smell of unwashed bodies, spilt ale, and smoke reminded him too much of his childhood.  His mother would smell like that when she came home in the early morning hours after plying her trade.  Still, taverns were a good place to gain information and gauge local politics.  Now Vernon was watching Dandelion sweet talk every barmaid, housewife, and strumpet that walked in the door.

_The lad’s an ass, but he has his uses._

Vernon mulled over the intelligence Dandelion had given him since they’d arrived in Flotsam.  Under Loredo, corruption and vice were rampant; he was also harboring a possible Kaedweni spy disguised as a merchant, Arnolt Malliger.  He needed proof, then he’d deal with them.  The Scoia’tael in the area were active, disciplined, and protecting the kingslayer.

_Iorveth’s a bastard, but a clever one.  He must have contacts in town.  Perhaps I can leverage one of them to find out where he’s hiding._

Which brought him to the herbalist’s assistant, Maven.  Dandelion said the girl had arrived in Flotsam, alone and seemingly out of nowhere.  She was absent from the harbor master’s passenger lists.  Either she was a stow away, which made her a criminal, or she’d come through the forest. 

 _A lone woman traveling the woods, she’d either have to be the luckiest bitch that ever lived or she’s working with the damn Squirrels._  

It was obvious that the woman had non-human sympathies.  She roomed with a mixed-race couple and was known to associate of Cedric, an ex-Squirrel, and Einar Gausel, the “mayor” of the non-human quarter.  Her comments in the tavern after the hanging further confirmed it.  Dandelion swore that Maven was a simple, kind girl, but Roche doubted it.

_He’s probably just taken in by her pretty face and pert tits.  The lad’s nothing if not predictable._

Suddenly the object of Vernon’s musings walked through the tavern door.  Maven bought an ale and then headed over to Dandelion and Zoltan.  The three laughed and chatted; Maven cracked a wide smile at something Zoltan said.

_Perhaps I should rattle her a bit, just to see what she does._

Vernon drained his ale and walked over.

“A bard, a dwarf, and a girl walk into a tavern…”

“Sounds like the start of a bad joke,” Maven said turning her head toward Roche.  She appraised him with a slight frown on her face.  Dandelion looked slightly nervous, while Zoltan was outright hostile. 

“Vernon Roche of His Majesty’s Blue Stripes, I don’t believe we were introduced the other day.”

“Maven,” she said placing her hand in Roche’s extended one. “I work for the herbalist in Lobinden.”

Roche held onto her hand longer than necessary.  Maven continued to meet his gaze.  He released her and settled onto the bench next to her. 

“I think I’ll take my leave,” said Zoltan, “I’ve no desire to drink with a murderer.”

The girl looked at Roche questioningly.  “The Blue Stripes are an elite unit, founded to deal with the non-human population in response to the Scoia’tael attacks during the war with Nilfgaard,” he explained.

“Define ‘deal with’,” she said warily.

 Vernon smiled unpleasantly, “Let’s just say I’ve gotten very good at administering a beating when I need to.”

“What brings you to Flotsam?” she asked with barely concealed disgust. 

“My men and I pursue the assassin that killed King Foltest.  Some say he’s holed up with a local band of Squirrels.  They’re led by a butcher named Iorveth.  Know anything about him?”

“I’ve heard that Iorveth commands the Scoia’tael in the forests around Flotsam.  It is said that he’s a cunning leader.”

“Ha, if I wanted rumors and hearsay, I’d ask this ponce,” Vernon said indicating Dandelion. “I want to know what you know.”

“I’m not sure what I could tell you.  I’m a simple herbalist.  I don’t get involved in politics.”

_Tricky bitch. Not an outright lie, but pretty damn evasive._

“You must see all kinds in that shop of yours and out on deliveries.”

She seemed affronted, “My customers expect me to keep their confidences.  If I gossiped about what I heard, then no one would come around the shop anymore and I’d be out of a job. Now if you’ll excuse me, I came here to have an ale with friends, not to be interrogated.”  Maven rose from the bench. 

Vernon grabbed her arm and yanked her back down.  “Dammit woman, this isn’t gossip its bloody treason. Tell me what you know about that whoreson Squirrel.”  He shook her in his rage.  The tavern had gone silent.  Dandelion looked ready to intervene. 

The fire in Maven’s eyes was the only warning Roche got before she grabbed his wrist and twisted.  Her fingers found several pressure points forcing him to release her arm.  She then slammed his arm on the table in such a way that it went numb from the elbow down.  By the time Roche could react, the girl was already out the door of the tavern. 

Vernon ran after her.  Several of the bar’s patrons got in his way and one serving wench “accidentally” doused him with a pitcher of ale.  By the time he out into the town square, the bitch was nowhere to be found.

 _A simple herbalist my arse.  No herbalist knows how to break a hold like that.  The girl knows something and I’m going to find out what._        


	33. The Hangover

Geralt had had his fair share of benders but he didn’t typically wake up on riverbanks with tattoos he didn’t remember getting.  Now he was headed to the herbalist’s hut in Lobinden to get the ingredients Triss needed to excise the brand from his neck, preferably before Dandelion saw it.  He opened the door and found the woman at a table eating her lunch.  As he approached, his witcher medallion stirred at his chest.

_Can’t I ever just go shopping without ending up on some quest._

“My medallion vibrates when you’re nearby.” He said, “And it only vibrates near magic or danger.”

Anezka looked nonplussed, “Maybe it’s warning you not to make a pass at me lest I slap you?” 

Geralt smirked, “You’re right, I should watch what I do.”

Anezka glared at him.  “Listen carefully. People may say I’m a witch, but I don’t deal in spells. You don’t look like someone who’d come for a charm or a curse, so you either seek out sensations or hunt witches. Whichever the case…”      

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’m not about to denounce you, nor do I want to see you dancing naked in the moonlight before Veyopatis’ shrine.”

“How dare you.”

“I want to buy some herbs.”

“Herbs?”

“For personal use.” He said under his breath while contemplating her rafters.

While Anezka rummaged around filling his order, Geralt glanced about.  There was a table of dishes on which someone appeared to be cultivating fungus.  A bookcase held tomes on ancient religions and several talismans and other artifacts rested on top.  Gerald remembered the amulet he’d picked up from Newboy back at LaVallette castle.  It felt like a lifetime ago, but the thing was still rattling around the bottom of his pack.

 _Maybe she’ll know what it is.  At the very least she should be able to tell me if it’s worth keeping._     

Geralt turned toward Anezka.  “What do you know about protective amulets?”

“I’m no sorceress,” she replied, “but I know a bit about magic.  Why do you ask?”

“Take a look at this one.  I have reason to believe there’s something not quite right about it…”

He handed the herbalist the amulet.

“Hmmm…I’d say there’s magic in it without a doubt”

She ran her fingers over the inlayed design, a motif of three interlocking circles surrounded by stylized designs of flowers, animals, and birds.

Anezka looked at him “I’d gladly buy it from you.”

Geralt was shocked.  “Why do you care about the amulet so much?”

She said something about collecting antiques. 

_If that’s true then I’m the prince of Povis._

With a little more persuasion Anezka eventually admitted that the medallion was likely Melitele’s Heart, a powerful talisman which had been cursed so that it brought the owner misery.

_My life hasn’t exactly been going great the past few weeks._

The herbalist knew a ritual that could restore the powers of the amulet but she needed several rare ingredients.

_They always do._

Geralt, coincidentally, had almost all the ingredients except for the eyes of an arachas.  Anezka refered him to Cedric who happened to be in possession of some.  Anezka and Geralt agreed to meet at the statue of Veyopatis at midnight to conduct the ritual.

On his way out the door, Geralt turned to Anezka.  “This ritual doesn’t involve you dancing naked, does it?” he asked waggling his eyebrows.  He closed the door just in time to avoid the soup bowl she chucked at his head.     


	34. Dancing in the Moonlight

It was around midnight when Maven decided she needed a little bread and cheese before bed.  Marcin and Viktor had turned in long ago, but Maven had stayed up reading “Wraiths: Fear and Trembling”.  She’d been working her way through all of Einar’s many books on the strange beasts that populated Temeria. 

_They really could have just written one book that said, “Monsters are scary, gross, sensitive to silver, and will eat you if they have the opportunity.”_

As Maven tucked into her snack, she glanced out the window.  Anezka was heading out of town. 

_It’s awfully late for her to be going to the shrine._

A few minutes later Geralt, the Witcher, left in the same direction. 

_I doubt they’re meeting up for a late-night tryst in the woods.  I better follow them in case he means her any harm._

Maven grabbed her bow, arrows, and dagger and crept along in the shadows behind the witcher.  Eventually, he entered the clearing of the shrine of Veyopatis.  Geralt approached Anezka, who seemed to be waiting for him.  They spoke for a bit although Maven couldn’t hear their conversation.

_Maybe they are just meeting for a booty call.  Although I’m not sure that gaping mouth statue lends the best ambience.  I’ll just leave them be…_

Suddenly Anezka turned toward the altar and raised her arms.  A tower for flame erupted and a strange breeze began to swirl in the glen. 

“You must fight them. I need time to finish the ritual!” Anezka yelled.  The witcher drew his sword as a dozen wraiths appeared around him.

_Oh, merciful mother of God!  You just had to follow them didn’t you._

Maven aimed one of her arrows at the back of a wraith about to gouge the witcher’s shoulder.  It went down with a shriek.  The witcher was holding his own.  Maven began to pick off the wraiths that got around his flank.  She had taken down three when two of the specters realized where she was.  They came at her with a shriek.  She managed to skewer one with an arrow but the other was getting too close.  Maven rolled to the side, while the wraith’s claws raked the air where she had been standing moments ago.  She drew her bow. 

_St. Sebastien let my aim be true._

Maven released the arrow which felled the wraith.  She looked at Geralt and Anezka who were staring at her. 

“Ummm, hi guys.  Nice night for a stroll.”

Geralt looked mildly amused.  Anezka looked like she could burn something down with her mind.

_To be fair, she kind of just did._

“Maven, what in the everlasting hell are you doing here?!”

“I saw him follow you.  I was worried he might hurt you.”

“Might hurt me?” Anezka sighed, “He came here to help me cleanse this amulet of a curse.”  She held up a gold disk about an inch and a half in diameter.  For a moment, it seemed to glow in the twilight. 

Anezka turned to Geralt. “Take this talisman as a memento of our meeting.”   

He looked confused. “But you really wanted it.”

“You helped me lift the curse from it and asked nothing I return.  Generosity is a rare virtue. Melitele’s Heart can once again bring luck- I think you will get more out of it than I will.”

The witcher thanked Anezka and all three began to stroll back to the village.  After Anezka finished berating her and strolled ahead, Geralt fell in beside Maven. 

“So, where does an herbalist’s assistant learn to shoot like that?”

Maven looked up, “The woods are a dangerous place, but they’re also where most of the medicinal plants grow.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Maven shrugged.

_He hangs out with that Roche guy I’m not sure how much I can trust him._

“Your technique reminded me of elven archers.  Did Cedric teach you?”

“No, but I did learn from an elf,” she said.

“If I had attacked Anezka, what would you have done?”

“I’d have shot you.  I’d probably have tried to draw you away from Anezka.  Then I’d have disarmed you.  If I had to I’d have kill you, but I generally don’t like killing people.”

“Just like that. You know witchers are notoriously hard to kill.”

“So I’ve heard. But Anezka’s a good person and a friend, I’d take the risk for her.”

“Even if you might die as a result?” Geralt smiled slightly.

“We’ve all gotta go sometime.  I can think of worse ways than protecting a friend.”

Geralt’s smile broadened.  As they reach the fork in the path between Lobinden and Flotsam, he took Maven’s hand and placed Melitele’s Heart into it.  He curled her fingers around the magical amulet saying, “Keep this.  I’ve got more than a few of these things and I think you’re going to need it.” 

With that Geralt turned towards Flotsam.  Maven was left standing in the dark contemplating the witcher’s retreating back.


	35. Breaking in and Breaking out

Melitele’s Heart hung around Maven’s neck beneath her blouse.  She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but the amulet always seemed slightly warm.  She still had trouble coming to terms with magic, even after everything she’d seen last night.

_Magic is just a word for unexplained phenomena.  This world obviously operates with slightly different physics than I’m used to.  Granted, those physics can result in the sudden appearance of creepy ghost things, but there are still rules.  I just need to figure them out._

It made sense that a different dimension might have different natural laws.  Maven’s father, a physicist at NYU, had explained multiverse theory to her as a child. 

_“It’s like drops of water,” he’d said dotting a line of droplets on a piece of wax paper.  “Each is a separate self-contained universe completely unaware of the others, but sometimes something happens….” He lifted the edges of the paper causing the drops to run together in the middle, “…and they collide.”  Then he pressed the edge together and let some individual droplets leak out onto the table.  “They may separate again, but they’re never the same afterward.”_

She smiled sadly as she thought of him.

 _He would have had a field day with this place._  

Whether he’d be as happy with the fact that she was about to engage in a little breaking and entering was debatable.  Maven had snuck into the back of the compound that bordered the forest. Now she was in the storage area.  She could hear the cheers and shouts coming from cavern where fight night was held.  Maven jumped and swung herself onto a low platform and then made her way to a casement window.  She carefully lifted the latch with a thin strip of metal that she slid between the frame and the jamb.  The window swung open and Maven crept inside.

Maven stepped into the kitchen.  She peered around the corner and saw a guard patrolling the hallway.  She withdrew her blow dart gun and with a puff of air the guard began to fall.  Maven ran to catch him and lowered him to a pile of grain sacks in the corner.  She removed the dart in his neck.  It looked like he was just taking a nap.  Maven opened another door to what looked like a meth lab.

 _What in the world…Loredo’s cooking drugs!  That’s a nice distillation apparatus.  What a waste._   

The room was empty, so Maven proceeded up the stairs.  Once at the top she found an empty office. 

 _That’s his public office, I’ll search it if I don’t find anything upstairs.  Anything he wanted secret is more likely to be in his private quarters._  

The next landing led to a dining area where several guards were playing dice.  She crept past them an up the next flight of stairs to a locked door.  She removed her pick set and got to work.  In a few short minutes, the lock was open.

Maven opened the door.  The room was actually a bit dingy for someone of Bernard Loredo’s station.  She began to search through the papers on his desk. 

_Huh, apparently the drug he’s making is called fisstech.  I’ll have to do some research on that.  Damn, he makes a lot of money off this stuff.  You’d think he could afford better furniture.   And he’s made a deal with some foreign monarch, Henselt of Kaedwen.  I’ll just take that.  I bet Roche will find this interesting and maybe it will distract him from Iorveth.  Nothing about the girls…_

Maven was startled by a cry from the bedroom.  She crept over to the door and opened it.  The bedroom was dimly lit.  She heard a rustling and saw a young elven woman laying on a bed with a visibly pregnant belly.

_Oh St. Felicity, please don’t let this be what I think it is._

Maven walked toward the bed.

“Who are you?” said the you woman, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“I’m Maven and you are?”

“My name is Moril.”

Maven’s eyes widened.  “I’ve been investigating your disappearance, that’s why I’m here.”

The young woman looked hopeful and then frantic.  “Can you get me out of here? Don’t leave me here please…”

Maven laid a calming hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Of course.  I promise I’ll get you out of here, but you must be quiet and do exactly as I say.”

Moril nodded, “I’ll not stay here any longer, even if I must crawl out.”

Maven placed an arm around Moril and began to lead her out of the building.  It was rough going for the pregnant woman and they had to hide in a privy to avoid some guards.  Maven still had to slit the throat of one that decided it was time for him to use the privy.

_Sorry guy.  I don’t think there’s anything less dignified than dying on a toilet._

Once the two women made it to the first floor, Maven led Moril to a wall at the back of the building.  There were no doors or windows.

_God, I hate this, but it can’t be helped._

“Ok,” she turned to Moril, “I’m about to do something.  Whatever happens, I need you to stay calm and not panic.  Now hold onto me and don’t let go no matter what.”  Maven took a few deep breaths to ready herself.  She wrapped an arm around the elven girl.  “Take a deep breath and hold it.” 

Moril held her breath and Maven phased them through the wall so that they were standing in the storage area at the back of the compound.  “You can breathe now,” she told Moril.  The elf’s breath left her in a gust.  If Maven had a dragon on her shoulder doing the electric slide, Moril couldn’t have looked more shocked. 

“We have to do that one more time,” Maven said leading Moril to the stone wall at the back of the compound, “Ready?”  Moril nodded, took a breath, and in moments they were standing in the forest.

Moril looked at Maven with wide eyes. “You are a sorceress.”

“Nope, no magic but would you believe a mutant from another dimension, brought here by some sort of spell?”

“At this point, I’d believe you if you said you were Dana Méadbh herself.”

Maven shook her head and smiled in the dark, “Completely mortal.  Now let’s get you somewhere safe.”

The two women made their way through the woods towards Lobinden.  Soon it was obvious that Moril was in distress.  “How close together are your contractions?” Maven asked.

“Maybe ten minutes.” Moril replied.

“We’re almost there.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Maven is a mutant from a different fictional universe. She isn’t an existing character; she’s an OC in both fandoms. I liked the idea of Geralt, a mutant, meeting different type of mutant. Also, the origin story for the world, with the Conjunction of Spheres, seemed to really lend itself to a crossover. I’ll probably change the tags after the next few chapters. Thanks so much for reading.


	36. Broken Hallelujah

Anezka was asleep in her bed dreaming of a quiet cottage in the woods with a beautiful garden.  No one would disturb her there.  She’d live a peaceful existence free of annoying neighbors….

Thunk, thunk, thunk.  Someone was pounding on her door. 

_What fresh hell is this?_

She climbed out of bed and threw on a dressing gown.

Thunk, thunk, thunk.  “I’m coming. I’m coming.” Anezka opened the door to Maven and…

“Moril?”

“Surprise,” said Maven, pushing past her into the house.  She helped Moril toward the bed.  “Her water broke and the contractions are about two minutes apart.  Please tell me you’ve attended a birth before, because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Yes, but…who? How?”

“Loredo.  I found her locked in his bedroom.”

Anezka moved to strip the bed and start boiling water.  She wasn’t sure who she was angrier at, “That bastard, may his balls shrivel into toads.  And you, what reason could you possibly have for being in Loredo’s house?  Do you know what might have happened if you’d been caught?”

Moril looked at Maven, “She doesn’t know. Does she?”

“No,” said Maven, “No one does.”

Moril nodded at this and then was gripped by another contraction.  Anezka checked her cervix.  She was almost fully dilated.  The elf gripped Maven’s hand tightly.  “I can’t do this,” she said.  “I don’t want this.  I didn’t want any of this.  When I found out I was pregnant I wanted to die.”

“Hey,” Maven gripped the girl’s face in her hands so she was forced to look in her eyes.  “You’ve survived more than anyone should have to.  You can do this.  Comparatively, this is nothing.”

“I’m so ashamed. I’m Aen Seidhe.”

“What Loredo did is on him, not you.  Are you going to let the worst thing that ever happened to you define your life? Or are you going to take it back?  You can do this Moril.”

The girl nodded, another violent contraction ripping through her body.

“Time to push, Moril,” Anezka said.

Moril bore down, while Maven held her hand and whispered words of encouragement.  Eventually, Anezka was cleaning the afterbirth from a healthy baby boy.  The child mostly favored Moril.  _Thank the Gods, Loredo’s an ugly son of a whore._ He had slightly pointed ears and delicate features.  Only a slight stockiness to his limbs betrayed his half-human parentage.  Maven had delivered the placenta and continuing to talk to the exhausted, shell-shocked elf as she cleaned her up.  “How can I do this alone?” she kept saying, “How can I bear it?”

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.  The three women froze.  Anezka finished swaddling the child and handed him to Moril.  Maven had gone for her dagger and positioned herself behind the door.  She nodded to Anezka, who opened the door a crack.

“Seherim.”

“I heard yelling.”  Anezka opened the door the rest of the way.  “Moril? Me minne, how?  I had all but given up hope.”  He rushed to her side and took her and the child into his arms. 

She weakly pushed at him, “How can you want me when I sit here holding the half-breed bastard of another man?”  She began weeping inconsolably.  Maven drew him aside and explained the situation. 

_He’ll abandon the girl or storm out of here, attack Loredo, and get himself killed._

However, Seherim did neither of those things.  Instead, he returned to Moril’s side and knelt by the bed.  Carefully he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm.  “Moril, I had begun to believe you were dead.  To have you returned to me is a miracle I can scarce comprehend.  I love you as I always have, as I always will.”

“But the child….”

“Will know only me as his father.  He will never hear the name Bernard Loredo.  That is…if you will permit me?” he said with a hopeful smile.   

Moril embraced him, still crying. Seherim stroked her hair, “Everything will be alright, me minne, everything will be alright.”


	37. Making Plans and Taking Action

Moril had finally passed out from exhaustion.  Seherim sat beside her holding the child.  He stared at the two of them as if they might vanish at any moment.  Maven and Anezka conferred at the kitchen table.  “They can’t stay here,” said Anezka, “Loredo will come looking for them.  He won’t like to have lost what he considers his.”

“But if he comes after them, it’s an admission of his guilt in the matter.”

Anezka shook her head, “He’s the law here.  His guilt is irrelevant.  No one can touch him.”

“Not true,” Maven replied, “Roche, the Blue Stripes commander, could condemn him.”

“Why would he? They’re on the same side where the nonhumans are concerned.”

Maven handed a sheaf of papers to Anezka, “I found these in Loredo’s office.  He’s in bed with the Kaedwenis.”

Anezka scanned the pages, “This could work, but it will take time to get him to act. Time, we may not have.”

“There must be something we can do?  Somewhere they can go?” Maven replied.

“Iorveth and the Scoia’tael,” Seherim said from across the room.  “He’s been trying to recruit me for years.  Looks like he’ll finally get his wish.”

“Seherim, are you sure…”

“I never understood his cause until now.  If the Scoia’tael can secure a future that’s safe for Moril and our child, where what happened to her can’t happen to another elven maiden. Then, I can only consider it just.”

Anezka turned to Maven.  “Speak to Cedric.  I assume he helped you get the last one out.”

“How did you know?” Maven asked incredulously.  Anezka only smirked.  “Fine, keep your secrets.  I’ll go find him.”

Luckily, when Maven found Cedric he was only somewhat drunk.  They left before sunrise. Cedric leading the way, while Seherim carried Moril and Maven took the baby.  Cedric left them by the forest waterfall, while he went to scout ahead for signs of the Squirrels.  Moril was still cradled in Seherim’s arms.  He seemed reluctant to let go of her for even a moment.  She turned to Maven.

“You should tell Anezka at least.  She’d worry about you less,” Moril said.

“I’d worry about her more.  The fewer people that know about me the better,” replied Maven, “Speaking of which, I’d prefer if you kept quiet about what you saw.  I mean you can tell Seherim, since I don’t believe in couples keeping secrets.  Also, he seems really confused.”

Moril looked at Seherim, who did seem bewildered.  She smiled up at him and said, “Maven is a mutant.  She can walk through walls, that’s how she got me out.  Don’t tell anyone.”

Her explanation didn’t seem to alleviate his confusion, “Who would believe me?”

Maven laughed, “Here, probably no one and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Your secret is safe with us,” he replied with the utmost seriousness. 

Cedric returned shortly thereafter with Adair and a few other Scoia’tael.  Maven embraced the elf and they exchanged pleasantries before he led the fugitive family into the forest.  Maven watched them go in the early dawn light.

_St. Joseph, patron saint of families, guard them._

Cedric turned to her.  “Well, that was an interesting night.  I think I’ll have a drink or ten and pass out until noon.  You?”

“I’m gross.  I’m going to wash my clothes and take a bath in the lake before I head back.”  


	38. Chasing Waterfalls

Iorveth headed toward the waterfall.  He traveled as quickly and stealthily as possible.  One of his scouts had informed him that Cedric had come looking for the Scoia’tael with two elves, a child, and a little curly haired dh’oine in tow. 

_Maven, what have you done this time.  Perhaps If I hurry I can catch her and shake some sense into her._

Iorveth rounded a bend and the lake came into view.  A view which included a mostly naked human woman washing her clothes in the lake.  Iorveth pulled up short.  The last thing he had expected was to find Maven doing laundry.

_Maven is in her underwear.  I should go. I really should go…_

Maven’s ass jiggled slightly as she scrubbed a particularly tenacious stain.  Her chemise had gotten wet and was clinging to her skin.  She’d bound her breasts so he couldn’t see much of them.  But still, watching her bend over the water with her ass in the air, it was a rather pretty scene.

_I really, really should go._

Maven turned her head and looked at him as if she’d known he was there the whole time.  She blushed slightly under his gaze and then cleared her throat, "What are you staring at?  I'm sure you've seen plenty of women in their underwear."

"Elven women," he corrected without thinking.

As slight frown marred her face and was gone in a moment replaced by a bemused smile, "I don't think there's much difference, but you're probably the expert.  You just missed Moril and Seherim, though I imagine you'll see them back at camp."

"Moril? You found her? Alive?"

Maven began to relate the events of last night while she continued to scrub blood and other fluids from her shirt.  She was slightly dodgy about how she was able to get a very pregnant elf out of Loredo's compound unseen.

_There's something she's not telling me, but there are things I can't tell her.  We both have our secrets._

As she told him about getting Moril to Anezka's house, Iorveth began to get a bit distracted. In the early morning light, he noticed that the freckles on her face were mirrored on the tops of her shoulders.  He thought about connecting the dots with his fingers to form previously unknown constellations on her skin.  He jolted himself out of his reverie.

_That's never going to happen for a myriad of very good reasons that I'm sure I'll remember in a moment._

Maven was describing Seherim's entrance into her story.  "They love each other so much.  It's just beautiful.  You'll make sure they're alright, won't you?  And the child, despite him being half-human?"

He was offended, "I'd hardly take out Loredo's crimes on a child.  What do you take me for?"

"Someone who really hates humans.  That's kind of your whole deal. 'I am Iorveth, scourge of the dh'oine. Eat arrows stupid human,'" she said with mock menace.

Iorveth snorted, "I'm obviously not that indiscriminate.  I'm friends with you, aren't I?"  As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wanted to pull them back.

"Are we friends?" Maven asked as a hopeful smile pulled at her face.

Iorveth contemplated the forest canopy and rubbed the back of his neck, "I suppose we are."

Maven finished washing her pants and laid them on a flat rock with the rest of her clothes, before standing up.

"Well friend, killing people and birthing babies is messy work, so I'm going to take a bath.  Unless you want an eyeful, I'd suggest you head out."  She contemplated the water and sighed deeply.

"What?" he asked.

"It's cold.  Where I'm from, we have heated water that pours from a spout on the wall.  It’s called a 'shower' and I miss it terribly, but it can't be helped."

_Don't say anything, you stupid ploughing idiot.  The less time you spend around a barely clothed Maven the better._

"Actually, there's something I'd like to show you..."

_You are the biggest godsdamn moron in Temeria._


	39. Cleaning Up

Maven followed Iorveth up the path next to the waterfall toward the elven ruins.  She was wearing his green leather jacket over her underwear and carrying her wet clothes.  He'd practically thrown the jacket at her before they'd started walking.

"Here, make yourself decent," he'd said, while looking away.  He didn't seem like a prude and Ciaran had mentioned, rather indelicately, that he was straight.  Coupled with his statement about only having seen elven women in their underwear, Maven figured that he just wasn’t attracted human women.    

_It's not like he could see that much.  My breasts are bound and the underwear here covers way more than my stuff on Earth ever did.  I'm basically wearing shorts and a tank top over a sports bra._

Not that she minded wearing the jacket.  It was warm and it smelled like Iorveth.  She surreptitiously pressed her nose into the collar.  Maven would remember that scent for the rest of life, even without the hyperthymesia. 

The view wasn't bad either.  Iorveth led the way, which gave Maven a chance to study him from behind.  The short-sleeved tunic that he wore clung to his shoulders and upper arms, which were muscular from wielding a bow and sword.  He'd tucked the tunic into his long kilt, which accentuated his narrow waist.

_I bet he has hipbones that could cut glass.  I should stop ogling him.  I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate it.  He's so damn pretty though..._

They came to a cave with a small opening located at the back.  Iorveth entered the passageway first and lit a wall sconce on the other side.  Maven passed him her clothes and shimmied through. Once on the other side the site took her breath away. 

Iorveth had lit most of the wall sconces that were still intact.  A deep pool filled the center of a room covered in sparkling mosaic tiles.  Fog rose from the pool and gave the room a steamy tropical feel.

"This is incredible," she said, "Are we underneath the rose garden?"

"Yes, my ancestors built these baths.  The water is heated by magic that is still active.  " 

"Heated? As in warm?" Maven looked at him hopefully, "May I? I mean if you don't mind..."

Iorveth chuckled, "That's why I brought you here, as a thank you of sorts." 

“A thank you for ignoring everything you said?” she grinned impishly.

He snorted, “Don’t be cheeky.  Take the compliment.” He handed her a cloth and bar of soap that he had retrieved from a nearby basket and turned around and sat on the tile floor so she could undress in privacy. 

Maven took off Iorveth's jacket and carefully folded it over a crate.  She removed her underwear and unwound the tight bindings on her breasts.  As they released, she emitted a soft sigh. Then, she slid into the pool with a splash. 

"This is heavenly," she groaned as the warm water began to loosen her tired muscles.  She began to suds up the soap.  It smelled of sandalwood.

_It smells like him.  This is his soap.  He comes here to bathe._

"Thank you, Iorveth.  This is amazing.  Do all the Scoia'tael know about this place?"

"No, only a few others.  I try to come here on a regular basis.  I find the water relaxing, it helps me clear my head."

"When was the last time you were here?"

"Not for quite some time." He shifted uncomfortably against the tiles.

Maven felt badly.  _He's being nice enough to share this place with me and I'm messing up his bath time._

"This is stupid.  You should take a bath while you have the chance, especially if you enjoy them so much."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," he said, still facing away from her.

"Look, it’s a big pool and you can hardly see anything under the water. Besides," she teased, "I know I'm a gross, untrustworthy human, but I promise not to molest you."

Iorveth turned around, confusion and mirth warring on his face "You promise not to ‘molest’ me?"

"On my honor," she said, holding up three fingers with the thumb extended over the pinky.

“You’re just going to keep badgering me until I agree, aren’t you?”

“Probably.”

"Turn around," he said with a sigh.

Maven could hear his sword belt hitting the ground, followed by the rest of his clothes.  Meanwhile, she washed herself, taking extra time with the blood splatter from the guard who's throat she’d slit.  She heard a splash as Iorveth entered the pool, while she finished soaping her hair.

"I'm done with the soap if you'd like it," Maven said, holding the bar behind her and to the side.  She felt the water ripple as Iorveth moved towards her.  His bare hand wrapped over hers to take the slippery soap. Her heart beat faster, she could feel the warmth radiating from his chest as he stood behind her.

_He's inches away.  I could just lean back...No, bad Maven.  You promised.  No touching the hot elf.  Or licking.  Or any of the other things you want to do with him._

His voice brought her back to reality.  "Thank you," he said thickly, as if he was having trouble swallowing or gagging a bit.

_It's never going to happen.  He finds you so gross he's literally suppressing the urge to vomit. I guess its just you and me tonight, hand....again._


	40. Scarred Men

The little dh’oine was trying to kill him.  She’d made soft moans and gentle splashes as she’d slid into the water.  He’d been determined to ignore them and had spent more time than he liked thinking about Bernard Loredo’s shriveled testicles in trying to get his own to behave.  Then she suggested he join her. He’d protested weakly but she’d promised not to touch him, as if she was worried about offending his delicate sensibilities.  He really did need a bath…       

_You’re just making excuses._

Now, Maven was a few inches from him, and the only thing between them was the warm water of the baths.  One of his hands was wrapped around hers holding the bar of soap.  The other itched to wrap around her waist and draw her against his chest.  "Thank you," he said thickly. 

_I should lick and nibble a path up that pale shoulder and neck to the base of her ear.  I wonder if human ears are as sensitive as elf ears?  If I pressed my cock against her ass would she pull away or grind back against me?_

His aforementioned cock seemed to really like that idea.  It started to bob, half-hard already between his legs.  Fortunately or unfortunately, Iorveth was never one to think with his cock.  He took the soap and stepped away from Maven, who promptly ducked under the water to wash the soap from her hair.  

_Wearing my coat, using my soap.  She's going to smell like I've marked her.  Stop that penis....its not going to happen!_

Maven came up still facing away from him.  She seemed to be waiting for his permission to turn around.  It comforted him in a way.  She gave him back a measure of control, when his own mind felt like it was spiraling into chaos.      

"You may turn around," he said.  She rotated and appraised the portion of him that was visible above the water.  

Iorveth knew what he looked like.  He had numerous scars, some decades old and faded into faint white lines, others, more recent, cut red jagged paths across his skin.  His neck tattoo extended down his shoulder and upper bicep, like an inky flowered pauldron on his skin.  And his face...well it was the type to frighten children, and not just because of his reputation. 

_So much for my "classical elven beauty." No wonder she readily offered not to touch me._

Iorveth looked at Maven in return.  The water came to an inch or so below her clavicle.  All the skin that Iorveth could see was pristine and unmarked except for her freckles. 

_Strange, I would think she’d have picked up a few scars while learning to fight.  Maybe they’re further down._

Maven was starting to work her mouth in that way she did when she wanted to ask a question but was trying desperately not to.  

He sighed, "Just ask.  The way you're grimacing is off-putting to say the least."

"Do you always wear the bandanna, even in the bath?"

"No."

"You can take it off if you'd like. I'm not squeamish."

"No." He didn't want to deal with the disgust or worse, pity, on her face when she saw what was underneath.  She looked up at him questioningly with those big eyes.  In the torchlight, they seemed darker than usual. 

He sighed, "Maven, I took a spear to the face.  Just leave it alone."

She winced "Ouch."

"Indeed."

"Well," she said lightly, "I have it on good authority that chicks dig scars."

"What do juvenile poultry have to do with anything?" he asked confused.

Maven looked confused as well, until she brought her palm up to her forehead.  "Oh sorry.  Where I'm from 'chicks' is slang for 'women' and 'dig' means 'like'. It’s a saying."

"Women like scars.  You have strange sayings where you're from.  Do you like scars?" he asked.

_Why did I do that?  I should have changed the subject to something less loaded like the weather or human racism._

Maven tilted her head to the side considering her answer.  "I suppose I do," she said, "Scars indicate that a man, and I almost exclusively prefer men, has experienced hardship and survived.  He's likely to survive in the future and he won't fall apart in the face of adversity."

"So, you like your men to be strong?"

"Not necessarily physically.  Emotionally, perhaps?"

Iorveth was standing closer to her now.  He wasn't sure how that had happened.  Had he moved, or had she?  He was looking down at her and could see her shoulders and the swell of her breasts.  Her arms floated at her side caressing the water.  She'd vowed not to touch him, but he'd made no such promise.  He could close the gap in moments if he chose.  He imagined devouring her mouth and palming her soft breasts.  Would she push him away or melt against him and wrap her strong legs around his hips?  He could have done that, but instead, he said the following:    

"So, you prefer emotionally-scarred men?"

"No," she said playfully splashing him, "Stop twisting my words.  I'm calling for a change of subject.  Tell me more about this place."

Iorveth told her the story of Eldan and Cymoril, the elven version, the true version.  Whatever spell Cáelmewedd had woven over them was broken for the time being.  She told him about the spy in Loredo’s house.  He agreed that giving the information to Roche was a good idea.  The man’s racism was second only to his patriotism and pitting his enemies against each other would give him some breathing room to figure out what to do about the kingslayer. 

_Letho is up to something I just can’t figure out what._

Iorveth thought about mentioning his alliance with Letho and Ciaran’s death, but she seemed so happy he didn’t want to taint her mood.  They talked until their fingers pruned and their respective duties called them back to reality.  Iorveth watched Maven travel the path to Lobinden until she turned the bend out of sight.  He couldn’t help but recall the way her unmarked skin had flushed in the warm water.

_It's never going to happen. You’re hideous and she’ll never think of you that way.  I guess it’s just you and me tonight, hand....again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two....I swear. Sorry for those of you hoping for sexy times, but they're not quite there yet. I am actually working on an alternate smutty chapter for this one, but I've never written a sex scene before so its taking a while. Anyway, thanks for reading.


	41. By a Lonely Prison Wall

Maven headed towards the docks with her basket.  She waved to Sara, who was in her usual spot. 

“I brought your medication and some more of Anezka’s tea,” Maven said.

Sara handed her an oren in exchange, “Melitele’s tits, luv.  You know I can’t be taking that in front of the customers.  They’ll think I have the pox.”

“But you do have the pox.  Are you sure you can’t take a day or so off until the meds kick in?  You’re still contagious.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, luv.  Most of these fellas probably already got that or worse.”

Maven sighed.  She’d succeeded in isolating a few antibiotics from her mold samples and had shown that they were safe for mammals to ingest.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, the whores of Flotsam had proven ideal for testing out the compounds, as a decent number had some form of bacterial STD.  The problem was that they kept getting reinfected.      

_After penicillin, condoms…so many condoms._

Maven began heading towards main gate.  As she did, she saw Geralt and the redhead from the tavern, Dan had called her Triss, conversing.

“He told me they’re keeping Scoia’tael prisoners on a barge in the port,” the witcher said.

“Did he mention if Ciaran aep Easnillan, Iorveth’s right hand elf, is among them?” 

Maven paused. 

_Ciaran, oh my God, is he alright? Of course, he’s not alright if he’s on a prison barge.  Elaine and Iorveth must be worried sick. I need to see if he’s there.  Maybe get word to them._

“He may know something about the kingslayer.”

_Kingslayer? I thought Loredo was just posturing.  Oh Iorveth, what have you gotten in to?_

“Let’s pay him a visit.”

“Umm, I couldn’t help overhearing,” Maven interjected, “you’re going to talk to Ciaran aep Easnillan?”

“Hello again little archer,” Geralt said with a glint in his eyes.

Triss regarded her more critically, “Why do you ask?”

“I know him.  I want to see if he’s alright and he might be more willing to talk to you if he sees a familiar face.”

“You’re friends with the second-in command of the Scoia’tael?” Triss asked skeptically.

“Kinda.  It’s a long story.”  Maven looked rather sheepish.

Geralt chuckled.  “Somehow, I’m not surprised.  Come on then.”

They made their way down the docks and into the prison barge.  The hold was dimly lit and smelled of unwashed bodies, rot, and excrement.  Maven gagged a little on the stench.  The guard had said that Ciaran was below and that he was dying.

_St. Maximillian, please let him be wrong.  Please let Ciaran be far away from here.  He’s too playful and happy for a place like this._

Scoia’tael huddled in the cells, but Maven didn’t recognize any of them.  She looked down the length of the hold and saw a prone figure lying on a pile of straw.  She couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

“No,” Maven said, “No, no, no.”  She ran to Ciaran and knelt beside him.  She found his pulse and noted that while he was doing so shallowly, he was still breathing.  “He’s alive. Thank god, he’s alive.”

Triss knelt beside her and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, while she surveyed Ciaran’s injuries.  Bruises had been layered on his body; older yellow and green patches merging with fresh purple blotches.  One eye was swollen shut, his once perfect nose had been broken, and several limbs were at odd angles.  Maven wanted to stab something, preferably the guards outside, very badly.

“They beat him bad,” said Triss looking at Geralt and Maven, “He’s got at least a dozen fractures.  I’ll need your help.  The spell I’m going to use is painful.  It could kill him if he thrashes around.”

Geralt used one of his witcher signs to calm Ciaran, while Maven stabilized his head and neck and whispered reassurances to him.  Triss cast her spell.  It was Maven’s first close exposure to magic.  It felt strange, like a tingling against her skin.  With Ciaran’s head in her lap, she could practically feel the bones and muscles knitting back together beneath her hands.

_I’m going to file this under things to freak out about later._

Triss finished her spell, but Ciaran remained unmoving.  “It’s no use,” said Geralt.  Maven was about to exhort them to try again when the elf stirred in her lap. “You wish, whoreson.  I’m no traitor.”

“Ciaran,” she said, “Ciaran, it’s Maven.  Do you remember?”

A fog lifted from Ciaran’s face, “Maven?”  He looked at Geralt, “Vatt’ghern?  Where am I?”

“In Flotsam.  On a prison barge,” Triss said gently.

“The convict’s barge…?  I’m done for,” he said in despair.

“No, you’re not,” Maven said firmly, “Triss healed you and I’m going to get you out of here.  As soon as I can figure out how.”  She began inspecting the hull for signs of weakness, entrances, and exits. 

Ciaran grabbed her hand, forcing her to refocus on him.  “Maven, there isn’t time.  You must warn Iorveth.  The kingslayer has betrayed us.”

“What happened?”

“He said he had an offer for me.  So, we met- where roses of remembrance grow.  I should have known…” he trailed off with a wince of pain.    

Triss perked up, “Roses of remembrance?”

Ciaran resumed his story, “Yes, some of the last in the world.  He thought that I’d betray my elven brother in order to control the unit.  I refused, and there was a fight. I’ve never seen anything like it…No human can move that fast.  It was a massacre.  I was the first to be hit, thus I survived.  I would have bled to death had Loredo’s men not found me.”

He turned his eyes toward Maven. “Letho will kill Iorveth and all will be lost.  So many dead, so much suffering, all for naught.  Letho used us, but he no longer needs Iorveth, sees him as a thorn in his side.”

Ciaran was becoming more agitated and Maven ran a soothing hand across his brow.  “Warn him, Maven.  Iorveth fights, for that is what he does best.  He’s Aen Seidhe -a real one, a free one.  Among the last. There is still hope, for change, for a better tomorrow…I’ll not see it.  They’ll torment me to death on this barge and I’ll go gladly where the apple trees bloom.  But you must warn Iorveth.”

“I will, I’ll swear,” she said, “if you swear to hold on.  I’ll find a way to rescue you.”

Ciaran smiled, though it never reached his whiskey-colored eyes, “For as long as I can, little extortionist.” He smirked, “The memory of my head in your lap will give me great comfort in the coming days.”

Maven scoffed, “It’s nice to know they didn’t beat the flirt out of you.  Then I’d really be worried.”  

She gave him some of the antibiotics she had in her basket, then bent down and placed a long kiss on his forehead.  “There, something else to give you comfort.”

Ciaran quirked his brow, “Maven, what did you just do?”

 She shushed him, “Rest now.  I’ll be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be doing some traveling for work and vacation over the next two weeks. My updates may not be as frequent as a result. Thanks for reading.


	42. Echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I'm back finally. Sorry to leave you hanging for so long, sometimes life happens. I'll put up a couple chapters to try and make up for it.

Geralt was just beginning to come out of his trance.  His memories were returning; he recalled the Isle of Avallach, and Yennifer’s kidnapping by the Wild Hunt.  Pieces of his missing mind were finally starting to slot into place. 

“Geralt…Are you alright?” Triss asked.

While Geralt was talking to Triss, he noticed Maven place a lingering kiss on Ciaran’s forehead.  He smiled slightly.

_I guess Ciaran doesn’t hate all dh’oine, especially not pretty little archers._

Triss drew his attention back, “Ciaran mentioned roses of remembrance, growing somewhere near here. Cedric claims likewise.  If that’s true…” 

“Right now, I should be searching the forests for Iorveth, not looking for flowers,” Geralt cut in impatiently.

“…I could restore your memory.”  _I really should have let her finish._

“It’s true.  I’ve seen them,” Maven walked over. 

“Cedric mentioned a ruin near the waterfall, up a path marked by a menhir.” Triss said.

“Yes, it’s a beautiful spot,” Maven said, “very peaceful.” 

As they left the docks, Geralt noticed that Maven was walking very slowly.  She limped slightly and guarded her side.

_It looks like she went a few rounds with a Bullivore and lost, but she was fine when we got on the ship._

The young woman parted ways with them on the docks.  “Thank you, Triss, for healing Ciaran.  Geralt, good luck getting your memory back.  It’s a terrible thing not to know oneself.”

“Good luck to you as well, little archer,” Geralt said.

As they made their way through town, Triss turned to him, “There’s something strange about Maven.” 

Geralt chuckled, “What isn’t strange about her?  She’s the most danger-prone herbalist I’ve ever met. The fact that she’s probably fucking that Squirrel is the least of it.”

Triss hit his arm lightly, “It’s nothing to do with who she’s fucking.  She has a strange energy in her aura.  I’ve felt it before in places where powerful spells have been cast, but where the magic is no longer active.”

 _“_ Like an echo of magic?” 

“Exactly, I’ve never felt it near a person before though…” 

They were distracted by some of Loredo’s guards ransacking a dwarven merchant’s cart.  Loredo had been on a tear since yesterday.

 _I wonder what happened._  

Geralt put it out of his mind as they made their way toward the woods. 


	43. The Lion’s Den

Vernon Roche was leaning over his desk studying the latest intel on Loredo’s fisstech operation. 

_Maybe I can leverage one of his dealers to spy for me?_

“Ves, any new leads on the Loredo’s distribution network?” he called out.

“No,” she replied leaning against the doorway, “but there’s someone here to see you.”

“Tell them I’m busy,” he said absently.

“It’s that herbalist, Maven, says she’s come to speak about a mutual acquaintance.”

Vernon grinned ferally, “Show her in.”

_So, the little bird’s decided to sing has she.  I wonder what the Squirrels did to piss her off._

Maven walked up to Vernon’s desk and regarded him coolly. Vernon held the power in the situation but he couldn’t help feeling judged by her appraising gaze.  “Hello, Maven. Care to take a seat?” he said indicating a chair by his desk. 

“No thank you.  I prefer to stand.”

“It’s better that you came to me, instead of waiting for me to hunt you down.  Now about Iorveth…” 

She cut him off, "I didn't come here to talk about Iorveth.  I came here to talk about Bernard Loredo.  I'm sure you're aware he's harboring a Kaedweni spy?" she said.

"Arnolt Malliger," Roche snorted with disgust, "Unfortunately, I have no direct evidence that Loredo's colluding with him."

Maven smiled with predatory intent, "I may be able to help you with that, but my help comes with a price."

"Of course, it does. How much?"

"I don't want money, but whatever I give you, you have to use it."

Roche couldn't believe what he was hearing, "I have to use it?"

"Too often the truth gets buried for the sake of political expediency.  I don't want that to happen here."

"If your evidence is solid, you have my word on the Blue Stripes that I'll see to it that Loredo swings from the gallows.  I'll not suffer a traitor to live."

A slight smile touched Maven's lips, "That would be a fitting end for him.  We have an accord then."

She drew a sheaf of papers from within her vest and handed them to Roche.  He looked them over.

_This is direct correspondence between Loredo and Henselt of Kaedwen.  How?_

He looked up at Maven, "How did you get this and why are you giving it to me?"

Maven rolled her eyes, "As for the first, do you really expect me to tell you?  As for the second, Bernard Loredo is festering pustule of a man, a bully, a bigot, and a rapist.  He deserves every bad thing and you are the only person in Flotsam I trust to give it to him."

He glanced at the letters.  They felt heavier than the weight of a few slips of paper.  "I don't suppose you're for hire.  I could use an agent in Flotsam."

"You already have an agent in Flotsam."

"A competent agent then."

"My loyalty isn't for sale. It has to be earned and you have yet to earn it, Vernon Roche."

She turned to leave.  "Maven, thank you.  You have done Temeria a great service."  

She nodded in acknowledgement, “Let Temeria know I may collect on it.” Then she proceeded out the door.

Vernon placed the papers on his desk.

_I wonder what her game is._


	44. No Rest for the Wicked

Maven awoke with a start the next morning. “Shit, what time is it?”  She saw the morning light filtering into her room and began to dress quickly in a shirt and pants.

_I need to find Iorveth and warn him.  Maybe I can ask Cedric for a lead._

After talking to Roche the previous day, Maven had been exhausted.  The combination of events had left her stumbling home before collapsing into bed.

_I hope Roche bought my Ms. James Bond routine.  I thought I was going to vomit from fear the whole time._

Maven threw on her old leather moto jacket and gathered up her weapons, strapping on her dagger, bow, and quiver, placing shuriken, smoke bombs, and blow darts into her pocketed vest.  Finally, she walked into the main room of the cottage where Marcin and Vicktor were eating breakfast.

“Welcome back to the living,” Marcin said.  “Your new friends, the Witcher and the redhead, stopped by and left you a note.”

He handed her a slip of paper, which Maven read. 

_Found the flower.  I’m not sure how peaceful it was but the ‘scenery’ was beautiful.  Planning to meet with our mutual friend later.  Meet us at the tavern if you’d like to tag along._

“I may be late for dinner, don’t wait up,” she told Viktor and Marcin.

“And just where do you think you’re going young lady?” Viktor asked. “You’re dressed like you’re about to do battle.”

“Viktor, I appreciate your concern, but you’re not my father.”

“I’m old enough to be your father.”

Marcin interjected, “Technically, you’re old enough to be my father, and Maven’s grandfather.”

Viktor sighed, “ _Bloede dh’oinne_ , at least eat some breakfast, before you go kill things.”

Maven smiled, “I can always eat.” 

After breakfast, Maven walked to the tavern in Flotsam.  She encountered Geralt and Zoltan just as they were leaving the inn.  “So, we’re going for a little walk in the woods?” she asked.

“You look much better,” Geralt said, “Want to tell me what happened yesterday?”

“Nope.  Want to tell me about ‘the beautiful scenery’ at Cáelmewedd?”

_If he’s implying what I think he is he did better than me, lucky bastard._

“Nope.  Zoltan knows the Scoia’tael’s meet point and hopefully your friendship with Ciaran will keep them from killing us until we can talk to Iorveth.”

Maven grinned at them, “We’ll see.  It’s the only plan we have so it will have to do.  Lead the way, Short and Sweet.”  Zoltan blushed.

Geralt snickered at Zoltan, “Can I call you that?”

“Are you a comely lass? Then, no,” he replied turning an even darker shade of red.

The trio left the town and headed into the forest.  Geralt needled Zoltan about his involvement with the Squirrels, while Zoltan protested, “I met a few Squirrels, but made no fucking deals.”

“What of their leader?” the witcher asked.

“They say Iorveth’s mad, but the Scoia’tael are at his beck and call.  Sod knows what he wants.”

“He isn’t mad,” Maven said, “and what he wants is a future for his people.  At least as far as I can tell from our talks.”

The two men stopped in front of her and turned around.  They were beyond sight of Flotsam’s gates.  Zoltan raised an eyebrow, “From your talks?  You spoke to Iorveth and he didn’t shoot you on sight?”  He sounded like Maven just said she regularly took tea with the Kayran.

“Yes, he’s actually very intelligent and funny.  He makes terrible puns sometimes though.”

Now both Zoltan and Geralt were staring at her, just staring.  Maven took the opportunity pulled out the red cloth.  “It isn’t a big deal,” she said as she tied it around her upper arm.  

At the sight of the band Zoltan’s eyes bugged out of his head, “I through it was Ciaran you knew.  Then why do you wear Iorveth’s favor?”

Geralt shot her a look, “Anything you want to tell me, little archer?”

 Maven looked uncomfortable, “I wasn’t aware it was a personal thing.  I thought it was just a general ‘hey Scoia’tael-sympathetic human, don’t shoot her’ kind of thing.  He didn’t say anything about that when he gave it to me.”

Zoltan shook his head, “By ‘he’ you mean Iorveth.  That’s his favor you’re wearing lass, not the Scoia’tael’s.  It means you’re under his personal protection.  Some of the Squirrels mentioned a human contact, but I never figured it to be you.”     

Maven ran her thumb over the cloth band.  “I’ve helped a few people.  I ran into him and Ciaran by chance and helped them take out some nekkers.  He gave me the band because I’m always in the woods gathering herbs.  I’m not spying for him.”

Zoltan ran a hand through his beard, “I believe you, lass.  Sod it, come on.  We need to go deeper into the forest.  I hope they didn’t change the password.”

Geralt looked at them, “Gods, between the two of you.  One knows the Scoia’tael password and the other has Ioveth’s blessing to wander the woods.  What are you playing at?”

“We’re just friends,” Maven said.  Simultaneously, Zoltan said, “The Scoia’tael asked me to command a unit.”

Maven gaped at him, “No wonder Loredo wanted you hanged.”

“I didn’t accept their fucking offer and Iorveth doesn’t have friends, just people it doesn’t currently behoove him to shoot.”

“Enough,” Geralt growled, “we’re almost there.”

The group came to a stone pillar in the middle of the forest.  “This is it.  I was due to meet them here,” Zoltan whispered. 

“I know,” replied Geralt, “They’re aiming arrows at us.”

“What? Geralt, I know you’re always vigilant, but quit poking fun at me.”

“Give them the password,” Geralt told Zoltan.

“What them?”

“Hurry up. They’re edgy,” he said.

“Kier-ke-gaard,” Zoltan called.

Maven snorted.

A pair of elves emerged from the forest.  Maven didn’t recognize either of them. 

“Stop bawling.  What do you want?” said one.

“Countersign,” replied Zoltan.

“Hei-de-gger.”

_Is he friggin’ serious? Will the next set be Sartre and Beauvoir?_

“I asked you a question,” the elf continued.

“Take us to Iorveth”

“Why?”

Geralt cut in, “If we wanted to speak to you we wouldn’t ask for your leader”

“Iorveth won’t talk with you.”

“You don’t know that,” Maven said quietly.

“Do you really think that scrap of cloth protects you.  Leave whilst you’re still able.”

“The two of you won’t scare us off,” said Zoltan raising his fist.

Geralt cocked his head to the side, “There are four more in that tree.”

“How do you know?” said the surprised elf.

“I can hear them breathing.  One’s sick or on fisstech,” replied the witcher.

“How…?”

“He’s wheezing.”

“Please, we just want to talk to Iorveth.  It’s in his interest to hear us,” said Maven.

The elf regarded her with disdain, “Wait at the clearing – the dwarf knows where.  We’ll let Iorveth know.”  The pair of elves left. 

“Well that could have gone better,” Maven said turning to Geralt, “You have super-hearing.”

“You don’t seem surprised,” replied Geralt.

“I knew a guy once.  You remind me of him,” she said wryly.

“Come on,” said a resigned Zoltan, “I know what those elven pricks have planned.  I’ll tell you on the way.”


	45. I’d Rather be a Sparrow than a Snail

**Ch 45 I’d Rather be a Sparrow than a Snail**

Iorveth sat in the main camp whittling arrows.  It kept his hands busy while he thought.  Ciaran’s loss had been a blow, both personally and to his operations.

_Damn Loredo.  How many more friends will he make me bury?  Not that we ever found his body._

The loss of Ciaran was tempered by the addition of Moril’s child.  Elven children were enough of a rarity that even a half-human was doted upon.  It was good because Moril wasn’t capable of caring for the babe after her ordeal and Seherim was needed in the field.  Enough of his Scoia’tael had been through similar situations that Moril had support but Iorveth knew she had a long road to recovery.  He intended to have Elaine teach the woman self-defense once she recovered from the birth. 

_Maven’s suggestion._

The thought of Maven brought up memories of Cáelmewedd, the last time he’d seen her. Memories of her pale freckled shoulders in the baths made him take too large a chunk out of the arrow.  He threw aside the ruined stick.

 _Gods, how did I let a dh’oine get so far under my skin?_   

Just then, Seherim came barreling towards him through camp.  He stopped in front of Iorveth dragging in desperate breaths. 

“What is it?” he asked, “Damn man, breathe.”

Seherim told him between wheezes, “At the meet point…Zoltan, Witcher, Maven asked for you…Ewan sent them to the arachas clearing…was in trees…couldn’t stop him.”

Iorveth was already on his feet, strapping on his sword.  Ewan was a moron, but he’d been promoted to lead a squad in Ciaran’s absence, due to a lack of better options.  He signaled for Elaine to follow with a unit and took off at a dead run for the clearing. 

_If anything happens to her, I will string Ewan up by his toenails._

By the time Iorveth reached the clearing, the battle had already begun.  Zoltan was on a rock ledge shooting the arachas with his crossbow.  Many of the bolts bounced off the beast’s hard shell.  Geralt had engaged the head of the beast with his silver sword and was casting signs at it.  Maven was dancing around the back of the monster with her dagger, taking out the legs.  She’d already seriously wounded at least two. 

The arachas suddenly turned on Maven.  Iorveth’s heart caught in his throat as she had to roll out of the way of a cloud of poisonous venom.  He jumped into the gully without hesitation.

“Scoia’tael!” he yelled.  His shout distracted the beast long enough for Maven to fall back and draw her bow.  He got in a few strikes with his sword before being backhanded by one on the beast’s claws.  Maven placed an arrow into the joint of another leg, toppling the now over-balanced arachas.  This allowed the witcher to drive his silver sword into the monster’s soft underbelly.  As the arachas lay dying, Maven walked over to him and offered her hand.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said ignoring her offer of help.  He stood up and looked at Maven.

He took in her disheveled appearance. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no blood other than a bit of arachas gore.

“You are unharmed?” he asked.

“Fine, although your welcoming committee leaves something to be desired.  It’s almost like you don’t want to be found,” she quipped

“I’ll be sure to put out banners next time. ‘This way to Iorveth’s secret lair,’” he replied sarcastically.

_Now to deal with the idiots that decided to put her in the path of a giant ploughing crustacean._

He turned toward Geralt and Zoltan making sure to position himself between Maven and them.  Elaine’s unit began taking positions on the rocks around the clearing.  “Gwynbleidd and Zoltan Chivay.  You’ve sought me out and here I am, for all the good it will do you.”

“Please, Iorveth hear them out,” Maven pleaded.

“How did you enlist Maven in this escapade?  Did you pray on her sympathies?  Tell her you just wanted to reason with the vicious elven terrorist?” 

“I might ask you the same thing,” said Geralt, “Apparently your personal protection isn’t worth much in these woods or has Maven served her usefulness and it’s time to tie up loose ends?”

Anger roiled through Iorveth’s gut, “Watch your words, Gwynbleidd.” 

“Enough, both of you,” Maven said stepping between them, “It’d be less trouble if you just took them out and measured.  Iorveth, Ciaran…”

“I’m sorry, Maven, but Ciaran is dead.  His warriors were ambushed and killed.”  He turned to Geralt, “You should invent better lies Gwynbleidd.”

“He’s alive, Iorveth. I saw him yesterday on the barge.  He’s badly wounded but alive,” Maven said.

Iorveth felt a flicker of hope.  Geralt joined the converstion, “Letho betrayed you.  He wanted to make a deal with Ciaran.  Ciaran turned him down and his unit payed the ultimate price.”

Iorveth contemplated the vatt’ghern’s words.  “If you speak the truth, Letho will die, but words alone are not enough.  I must hear it from Letho’s own lips.”

“Why do you trust him?” Maven asked.

“I don’t,” replied Iorveth, “but I’ll learn more from a confession than an arrow through the throat.”

He looked at Geralt, “The kingslayer is in the ruins of Cáelmewedd.  For some reason, he likes the place.”

Geralt grinned wolfishly, “He’s not the only one.”

_What’s that supposed to mean?_

“Come, my unit will cover us.” Maven prepared to follow them, “Not you, little dh’oine.  Go back to Lobinden.  Your presence would only raise Letho’s suspicions.”

_And if what Gwynbleidd says is true, I don’t want you anywhere near him._

She looked like she was about to argue with him, but then appeared to think better of it.  “I told Ciaran I’d get him off that barge.”

“I already have a plan in place Maven.  Don’t do anything foolish.”

She smiled, “You should listen to your own advice.  Letho sounds like a tough customer.”

“I will be cautious.”

“I also gave Roche the information on Loredo.  He swore to see him hanged.”

Iorveth smiled, “You’ve been busy. We’ll speak more after Letho has been dealt with.  Va faill, little dhoine.”

“Godspeed, Iorveth.”


	46. Day Drinking

Maven and Zoltan made their way back to Lobinden.  She noticed Cedric sitting on the catwalk, kicking his legs as he studied the forest.  Maven clambered up beside him.  He offered her the bottle of vodka at his side and she took a swig.

"Busy morning?" he asked.

"I think you already know the answer to that," she replied.  Maven liked spending time with Cedric.  It was simple to sit next to him and not speak.  He claimed to have visions and Maven wasn't sure whether they were real or not, but he was unusually perceptive and seemed to know when she needed quiet companionship.  

_Probably just a function of being a couple hundred years old._

"My visions don't show me everything you know."

"Good, I'd be pissed if you had neglected to mention a giant snail monster in my future."

"The arachas," he nodded, "I assume it is no more then.  Iorveth will have to find a new guard for his weapons cache." 

"Yes, we took care of it," she replied.

"We meaning the witcher, the dwarf, and yourself or did you have help?" he said slyly.

Maven regarded Cedric from the corner of her eye,"I thought those visions didn't show you everything." 

"They show me enough.  You should tread carefully with him, Maven."

"I know.  I got an earful from Zoltan on the way back," she took another swig from the bottle before imitating the dwarf's accent. "'Ye must have a care, lass.  Iorveth's no some one-eyed kitten ye can coddle with belly rubs and treats.  He's a cold-hearted murthurer and a terrorist.'"

Cedric chuckled, "And what did you tell him?"

"That I know Iorveth has his own agenda, that he's done some questionable things to further that agenda, and that one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter."

Cedric smiled, "So you are not blinded by your affection for him.  That is good."

"I'm not as naive as people seem to think, I know he hates humans, but I still think we're friends in a way, at least as much as he can be friends with a ‘bloede dh'oine.’"

The elf sighed, "Maven, I don't think Iorveth wants to be your friend..."

"He may not want to be, but he's kind of stuck with me now," the booze had gone to her head a little, making her a bit belligerent, "Thanks for the drink Cedric, I need to get something to eat and go to work.  Those drowner brains won't dissect themselves."

As she clambered down the ladder she thought she heard Cedric call after her, "Maven, that's not what I meant..."

She felt a little bad for running out on him, but not enough to go back.  

_I don't need any more people reminding me that he's basically friends with me under duress.  It's not like I want to be friends with him either.  At least not just friends._

As Maven headed towards home, she noticed Triss making her way toward the ladder leading up to the catwalk.  She waved to the sorceress and continued home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daovihi actually has a fic with Iorveth as a cute little cat. I'd recommend it.


	47. Prejudice and Pride

Iorveth made his way toward Cáelmewedd.  The sooner this business with Letho was cleared up the better.  The witcher was chatty on their way over asking about his politics and motives for killing Foltest.  Iorveth alluded to Saskia without mentioning her outright.

_I’m not sure if I can trust him._

Eventually, the topic of conversation changed.

“So, Maven is your human spy in Flotsam?” the witcher asked.

Iorveth snorted “Maven is many things. My spy is not one of them.”

“You seem familiar with each other and why else would she wear your favor?” asked a curious Geralt.

“I’ve met few Aen Seidhe worthy of my respect and even fewer dh’oine.  Maven is one of the them.”

“I’m rather surprised you know any dh’oine that you consider worthy of respect,” a bemused smile played across his face.  “Unless…”

“Dice vatt’ghern.  Since you seem incapable of silence.”

“Nothing, I’m just not sure ‘respect’ would induce me to jump in front of a rampaging arachas.”

Iorveth made a noise of disgust, “We’re almost there.  We need a ruse. Tell Letho you’ve captured me and want to hand me over to him.”

“And you?” the witcher asked.

“I’ll be unarmed, hands bound. If you’re not lying, his reaction will confirm it. I don’t trust you of course.  My warriors will cover us.  If you try anything stupid…”

Geralt rolled his eyes, “I get it.”

Iorveth grinned his best “I’m an insane elven terrorist” grin, “I don’t think so.  Do anything stupid and they’ll tie you down on an anthill, face coated with honey.  You’ll scream so loud even the storm riders will hear you.”

Geralt looked nonplussed, “Are you always so grandiose? We could just tell Letho to own up.”

“Ayd f'haeil moen Hirjeth taenverde.”

The vatt’ghern paused to translate, “Conquer with courage rather than strength?”

Iorveth applauded. “Exactly.  Let’s go.”

_I swear dh’oine get stupider every year._

Geralt bound Iorveth’s hands with a quick release knot so he could easily untie himself.

“If he’s betrayed me, Letho is a dead man,” Iorveth said under his breath.

They made their way to the statue of Eldan and Cymoril where Letho waited.  Geralt shoved Iorveth to the ground at his feet.

_Oww.  Good job selling it, but owww._

Letho rose from his seat, “Geralt of Rivia…what is the meaning of this?”

“I’m here to negotiate,” Gwynbleidd replied.

“Ah Iorveth, the woodland fox, caught at last.”

_Better a fox than a troll, you bald bastard._

“I underestimated you,” Letho said with grudging respect.

“Ciaran aep Easnilen told me you want to eliminate Iorveth,” said Geralt feigning nonchalance. 

“Even if I do, why would you help me?” asked Letho suspiciously.

“Bloede dhoine,” Iorveth tried to look surprised at Letho’s betrayal and pretended to struggle at his bonds.

Geralt turned back toward Letho, “Tell me who you’re working for and the elf is yours.”

“We work for ourselves,” he replied

“We?” Gwynbleidd asked.

“The kingslayers”

“Who are you?” the white-haired witcher demanded.

“You really don’t remember,” Letho replied with a smug smile

“I’m sick of that question,” Geralt growled.

“So, it’s true. And here I feared that you’d ruin it all.  I am Letho of Gulet. I’m a kingslayer.”

“Demavend, Foltest…Who else? Who the hell are you?”

“We’ve met Geralt do you remember?”

“No…”

“I’ll never forget it.  You saved my life White Wolf.”

“We fought side by side.  Now we’ll cross blades.  This wouldn’t be necessary if I’d killed Iorveth first”

“Serrit and Auckes will drown in their own blood,” Iorveth interjected.

“Oh, I don’t think so.  My men will finish their task long before the Scoia’tael in the Pontar Valley realize you’re dead.”

_I’m remarkably difficult to kill.  Ask the man who tried to ram a spear through my skull._

Geralt continued to try and pry information from Letho.  It was obvious that Letho had used the Scoia’tael, Iorveth could only hope that he had enough time to get a message to his troops in upper Aedirn before Serrit and Auckes massacred them.  The two witchers continued to exchange threats.

_Damn they’re chatty bastards.  Just run each other though already, my arms are starting to fall asleep.  Wait what was that…_

Iorveth noticed a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye.  A rustle in the leaves and a tell-tale chaperone gave the rest away.

_Vernon Roche.  Either he doesn’t trust the witcher and had him followed or Geralt’s betrayed me._

Iorveth watched as human soldiers began to fan out toward the Scoia’tael position.  They were obviously trying to flank the Aen Seidhe and take them by surprise.  He would have to act quickly to prevent his warriors from being slaughtered.  With a tug, Iorveth released his bonds. 

“Enough of this farce. Vedrai! Enn’le!”

Iorveth’s elves emerged from the forest.

“What game are you playing?” said a surprised Letho.

“One that you just lost,” replied Geralt drawing his sword.

Roche’s arbalists decided to make themselves known by shooting several Scoia’tael, then his men charged from the bushes and engaged Iorveth’s warriors.  Luckily, Roche seemed to have brought mostly Loredo’s men, who were little more than bar brawlers in armor.  Loredo generally looked for loyalty in his men over skill.  Iorveth turned to Geralt, who seemed surprised by the sudden attack. 

“Give me my sword,” he said holding out his hand.

_Time to show your true colors, Gwynbleidd._

Geralt hesitated for a moment before tossing Iorveth his sword.  The elf entered the melee, parrying blows and cutting down dh’oine as he worked his way toward Elaine’s position.  The two witchers had fallen into a hole in the roof of the elven baths and were thus out of the fight.     

“How are we faring?” he called out as he stabbed a soldier through the gut. 

“We lost a few in the initial barrage, but we’ve turned the tide.  They’re greener than a basket of frogs,” Elaine replied as she shot an arbalist through the eye.

‘’That’s what I like to hear,” Iorveth said with a bloodthirsty grin. “Scoia’tael!” he shouted.  Soon, it became obvious that Elaine and her unit had the battle all but won.

The remaining humans were limping back to Flotsam.  Iorveth watched Roche try to slip away unnoticed into the forest.

_I’ve got you now Roche._

Translations

Dice vatt’ghern = Speak witcher.      


	48. The Duel

Iorveth emerged from the underbrush to find Vernon Roche waiting for him, his sword drawn.  A smile tugged at the edge of Iorveth’s face.

_At long last…_

Iorveth drew his sword and charged Roche, their blades clashed, ringing out in the silence of the clearing.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this,” the elf said.

“Waiting for me to skewer you like a roast sow?” replied Roche. “Impending death has addled your mind.”

They pushed apart and came together once more, metal against metal.

“The Temerian Special Forces, created by Foltest to combat the Scoia’tael after the first war with Nilfgaard,” Iorveth spoke as if he was reading from a history tome.

Another block and lunge and Roche seemed to have the advantage.  Iorveth was at the edge of the clearing with his back pressed against a large boulder.  Roche was so close Iorveth could see the sweat standing out on his brow.

“Veterans…” Iorveth parried.  “Professionals,” a quick thrust. “The best of the best.”

Iorveth had succeeded in reversing their positions. “This is the end Roche. See these emblems?  Temerian lilies- that’s all I lacked. I’ve defeated the commanders of all the special forces in the North.  Now I shall unite the Scoia’tael.”

Roche didn’t take being cornered and threatened well, just as Iorveth had suspected.  He charged Iorveth who managed to fend off the blow and get a deep swipe across the human’s side.  Not enough to kill, but enough to wound and throw him off balance.

Roche went down hard, losing his sword in the underbrush.  Iorveth loomed over him.

“Finish what you started…” Roche ground out as he gripped his side.

_I wish I could, but you still have a corrupt commandant to hang, but you don’t need to know that._

Iorveth merely smiled, “I shan’t kill you Roche. We Aen Seidhe never kill the last specimens of dying breeds.  Live on, and remember who defeated you, remember he can do so again.  Va faill, Vernon Roche.” The elven warrior turned and headed back toward Cáelmewedd.

“You’re making a mistake Iorveth.  I will find you,” Roche called after him.

_I’m counting on it.  Time to find Gwynbleidd and the traitorous Letho._


	49. Damn racists

As Maven was cleaning the last of the drowner brains from her hands, she noticed a pair of Loredo's soldiers limping toward the Flotsam gate.  She picked up some aspirin, antibiotic ointment, and a few bandages and headed toward them.  

"What happened to you two?" she asked as she approached, "Need any help?"

"Thank you kindly, miss.  I'm Bob.  We ran afoul of some Squirrels near them ruins. I've twisted me ankle and Phil here's been grazed by an arrow."

_Cáelmewedd.  That's where Iorveth and Geralt were headed.  Stay cool, Cardoza._

Maven began to bandage Phil's head wound.  

 _"_ What were you doing so deep in the forest?  You must be very brave. _"_

_Flattery will get you everywhere._

Bob's chest puffed up, "Oh, tis no great thing for fighting men such as ourselves. Those elven savages are usually no match for us human men and are as like to run away at the sight of us."

"They didn't run away today," Phil groused, "Roche said it would be one or two damned elves and a witcher and that we'd have a witcher of our own on our side.  Didn't expect a whole platoon and for the ploughing mutant to side with the Squirrels. Now we're come back tail between our legs and Roche nowhere to be found.  We didn't even capture that one-eyed whoreson."

Maven digested the information, as the men continued to bicker and she treated their wounds. Iorveth was likely free and alive, Geralt and Letho had fought though the outcome was unknown, and Vernon Roche was missing.  

Her thoughts were interrupted by Bob, "Oh but don't you worry, miss.  We'll show them elves what for."

"Are you going to launch a counterattack?" she asked.

Phil chuckled darkly, "Not exactly, we'll see how those Squirrel bastards like it when their friends and families are roasting in their own homes."

_It's just like back home.  No, not here too!  I won't let them._

_"_ You don't mean to attack the nonhuman quarter?  Surely the commandant won't stand for such a breach of law and order? _"_

"Ha, he'll probably light the torches hisself," said Bob. 

Maven was seethed internally.  All she could see were the electric fences and the rows upon rows of graves. All she could hear were the screams of the dying. "I have two more questions.  Did you happen to see where Vernon Roche went?"

"No miss, though he couldn't be far behind us.  What's your other question?"

"Adeadracistsayswhat?"

"What..."

Both men fell to the ground, their throats slit.  Maven cleaned and resheathed her dagger as she headed into the forest.  

 _I can't stop this myself, but I know someone who can.  Ready or not, Vernon Roche, here I come._  

Maven followed the blood trail left by Phil's head wound.  It meandered a bit among the trees.  Obviously, the retreat from Caelmewedd had been disorganized.  She stood still for a moment and listened to the sounds of the forest as Cedric had taught her.  Trying to pick out any disturbances.

_Use the Force, Maven.  This is dumb.  How am I going to find one stupid guy in a whole stupid forest?_

Maven rubbed her medallion in a fidgety gesture, when suddenly she heard a pitiful groan and the sound of something dragging across the ground.  She followed the sound to find Vernon Roche, one arm against his wounded side, pulling himself across the forest floor.

_Jesus, score one for dumb luck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Traveling again so there may not be any updates for a bit.


	50. Vernon Roche and the no good very bad day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok one more.

Roche crawled toward Flotsam.  The day was not going the way he’d hoped.  Word had come in of Geralt’s meeting with Squirrel commando when most of his Blue Stripes were out patrolling another part of the forest with Ves or doing reconnaissance on Loredo’s compound.  The remaining few had been investigating rumors of a large weapons shipment that had arrived in port after Geralt had dealt with the kayran.  He hadn’t had time to wait for his more experienced fighters and so had to make do with a few arbalists and a bunch of Loredo’s goons. 

 _After I string that whoreson, Bernard up_ , _I’ll make all those so-called soldiers of his run ten laps around city walls just to see how many drop dead of exhaustion._

Vernon’s heart had soared when he saw Geralt talking to a man he presumed was the kingslayer, with Iorveth bound at his side.  Then he had realized that a unit of Squirrels had taken positions around the ruins, either to rescue their leader or as backup for some sort of ruse.  He had ordered his men to try and flank the Squirrels and hoped that the element of surprise and Geralt’s support would be enough to turn the fight in his favor. 

_Everything would have gone to plan if that one-eyed bastard hadn’t lost his cool._

Roche also hadn’t planned on Geralt having an attack of honorableness and giving Iorveth back his sword.  That same sword had cut down many of Loredo’s men and stabbed him in the gut.  The outcome of their duel was the most galling part of the whole day.  The elf had humiliated him and hadn’t even the decency to finish the job. 

_And that last fall badly twisted my ankle, I can’t even walk back in defeat, I literally have to crawl._

Vernon heard rustling in the underbrush and hoped it was Ves come to track him down. 

_No such luck, it’s that damn herbalist/spy/whatever the hell she is._

Maven bent down next to Roche, “Come on we need to get you back to Flotsam.  Loredo is planning on massacring the non-humans and unfortunately you’re the only person with the authority and forces to stop him.”

“Who gives a crap about that vile little town?  The kingslayer and Iorveth are escaping and I’m bleeding out in the woods.  Besides I can’t even walk, what in the bloody hell do you expect me to do about it?”

 “I expect you to do your damn job.  You’re supposed to be in charge of things that concern the nonhuman population.  Well, a pogrom is pretty damn concerning,” she replied, “I can heal you, but if I do you’ll put a stop to this before there’s a massacre.”

“Ha,” he said sarcastically, “Do you have a poultice that can knit flesh?  Fine, if you heal me right now, I’ll go save that pitiful ghetto and dance a jig in the streets afterward.”

“Good enough,” Maven shoved him onto his back and ripped his shirt open to get to the wound.

“Unhand me you harpy.”

Maven placed her hands against the stab wound in Roche’s side covering them in blood.  A strange warmth flowed from Maven’s hands and Roche could feel his flesh knitting together. 

“Just a nicked blood vessel,” she said through clenched teeth, “You’ll be fine.”

Maven withdrew her hands and moved to his injured ankle.  The same warming sensation and Vernon found he could rotate and flex his foot without pain.

“You’re a damn witch.  What did you do to me?” demanded Roche as he got to his feet.

“I fixed your sorry broken ass,” Maven said.  The effort of healing him seemed to have taken a toll on her.  Sweat stood out on her brow and her face was tight with pain.

“Now, go stop this before things get out of hand, and I expect that damn jig as well.”

Roche contemplated her with narrowed eyes, “Why does a witch care so much what happens to non-humans in some backwater?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation and even if I did there isn’t time,” she growled, “For once in your life, do the right thing Roche, even if it isn’t for king and country.” 

“Fine, but after this I’m coming for you and I expect answers, whether you want to give them or not,” with that Vernon stalked off toward Flotsam, leaving Maven huddled at the foot of an old pine tree.     


	51. Geralt’s not having a great day either

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm back. Hopefully I'l get back to more regular posts after this.

Geralt limped into Flotsam, the battle with Letho had wounded his pride and a few ribs.  Now he had to hurry to find Triss before the other witcher did.  Iorveth had found him shortly after the fight, but he’d been no help.  The Scoia’tael couldn’t very well enter Flotsam.  Geralt didn’t regret giving Iorveth back his sword though.  He wouldn’t wish that prison barge on anyone, even if the elf had tried to feed him to an arachas.  Plus, Iorveth’s cooperation had allowed him to get more information out of Letho than he otherwise might have.

As Geralt approached the city gates he heard shouting and the sounds of general mayhem.  He jogged the rest of the way in and found Vernon Roche standing on the gallows trying to calm an angry mob.  Several Blue Stripes stood with him and Ves, who had her crossbow trained on anyone that ventured too close to the scaffold.  Other members of the squad were confiscating weapons or patrolling the edge of the square.   

“Return to your homes.  There will be no rioting tonight,” Roche said.

“Them Squirrels killed our boys.  They deserve to be punished,” came a voice from the crowd.

“And the Squirrels will be, by the Temerian Special Forces.  You, however, do not have the right to take retribution on your non-human neighbors.  We will uphold law and order in this town even if I have to kill every one of you bastards to do it.”

This caused the murmuring in the crowd to become more subdued.  Shorty and Fenn entered the courtyard and ran toward the platform.  “Captain,” Shorty called out, “Loredo’s escaped from his compound.  We found a hatch leading to some tunnels in the back.  Also, his mother attacked us and we had to separate her head from her shoulders.”

“Did you get the Kaedweni?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take him to headquarters for interrogation.”

Geralt ambled over to the scaffold.  “What’s going on?” he asked. 

“The good citizens of Flotsam have taken it upon themselves to punish their nonhuman neighbors for our defeat at the elven ruins.  Thanks for that by the way.”

“You should have told me your plan.  I don’t like surprises.  Have you seen Triss?”

“No,” Roche replied dismissively.

Geralt headed to the inn.  With any luck, Triss would be inside enjoying a pint with Dandelion.  Of course, Geralt’s life being what it was, he wasn’t that lucky.  Instead he found a busted megascope, a dead bodyguard, and a trail of blood. 

_Can’t things go to plan just once._

He also found a peephole to the brothel and in the next room a frightened elven prostitute and the brothel madam, Margot. 

“A few of the townsfolk came by screaming filth,” said Margot, “Luckily a few of those Blue Stripes hauled them off, or I shudder to think what would have happened.” 

The elven woman, Derae whimpered, “Just yesterday they came by and told me I was pretty, now…”  She burst into tears.

“There now, luv. Hush,” the madam whispered rubbing the girl’s back.

Margot told them about Triss and Cedric breaking into Síle’s room and Triss’s conversation with a raven-haired sorceress.  This Philippa Eilhart had apparently allied herself to some rebels in upper Aedirn, who were opposing Henselt of Kaedwen in his bid to take the region. 

According to Dandelion she was, “Sorceress counselor to King Radovid of Redania.  A grand mistress of the world’s most fetid cuisine- politics.  She’s amoral in a crystalline way, so devoid of conscience that she’s a phenomenon.”

Margot hadn’t seen much after Triss’s conversation with Philippa.  The townsfolk and subsequently the Blue Stripes had broken into the brothel, though she had heard sounds of a struggle and saw Cedric staggering off into the forest.    

_Time to track down a drunk elf.  How hard can that be?_


	52. Do not go gentle

It was almost dawn before Maven's ankle had healed enough that she could begin limping back toward Flotsam.  The gash in her side had scabbed over, but was still a little sore.  Maven's memory was a gift she'd inherited from her father, but her accelerated healing and ability to draw injury and pain from others into herself, that she had acquired from her mother.  It was a powerful gift but it came at a great physical and emotional cost.  Every time she drew out another’s pain, injury, or illness she inflicted a portion of it on herself.

_Seems like 20-25%.  Mom was so much better at this than I am.  God, I miss her. She’d know what to do right now._

Tears tracked down her face as she plodded through the woods, though she couldn't say if they were due to the pain in her body or the thoughts of her mother that pulled at her mind. She pushed down the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. 

_Roche better have done what I said or I will shove that stupid hat of his so far up his ass that he'll need a backhoe to excavate it, which will be a problem considering the internal combustion engine hasn't been invented yet._

A night in the woods had done little for her mood. Maven paused whenshe heard movementahead.  She crept up carefully, until she found a prone form laying at the foot of a tree.

"Cedric," she said, "What happened?  Let me see if I can..."  Maven was already reaching for Cedric's stab wound when he caught her wrists.

"No, Maven," he said, "I am too far gone already.  If you attempt to heal me you will succumb as well."

"How do you know what I can do?"

"Seer, remember," he said chuckling a little before his laugh dissolved into gasps, "Though I know a rational woman such as yourself does not believe in such things."

"I've seen a number of things lately, that have defied explanation.  Fire conjured from thin air, wraiths, magical healing...What are a few visions between friends in comparison?"

"You humor me, but I knew you would be here at the end, as well as...ah right on time," Cedric looked over Maven's shoulder as Geralt appeared. “Caedmil, Gwynbleidd…I no longer feel the pain.  Always wanted to die among trees.”  Maven helped him to prop himself against the oak at his back.

“Cedric, what happened?” the witcher asked.

“Triss asked me for help to access Silé’s quarters. I killed the dh’oine guarding the door, and we broke in.  Again, I killed a dh’oine.”

“I know…Where’s Triss?”

Cedric told his story haltingly through the pain.  “A witcher came in. Attacked us.  I tried to protect Triss.  He was fast…too fast for me.  He hit Triss before she could cast a spell…He knew how to fight a sorceress…Then he ordered her to activate the megascope…He needed to get to Aedirn…Near the dwarven town of Vergen.  Triss said it was madness, that she didn’t have the coordinates…He gave her a strange look, threatening, ‘Better give it your best, you’re going first, with me right behind you.’ Then I passed out. When I woke…they were gone.  I knew I was dying. The forest called me.”

“Why, Cedric?” Maven asked through her tears, “Why did you get involved.”

Cedric smiled wanly and squeezed her hand “Why did either of you?  Sometimes we must…”

“You both know about my visions. That’s why I drink. It helps. I’m safe in a mist of vodka…see nothing, feel nothing.  But now I see clearly,” Cedric said, his voice gaining strength.  He turned to Geralt, “You need to regain your memory…Only then will you understand who’s killing crowned dh’oine…and why.”

“How can I get it back?” Geralt whispered. 

“In Aedirn…In a place tainted with dark magic…Where ghosts of the fallen will fight a great battle. Save their souls and your memory will return.”

_Well that’s not ominous at all._

Geralt turned away for a moment while he contemplated the elf’s words.  Cedric refocused his gaze on Maven.  “He was right you know,” he said smiling slightly, “the ritual did work.”

Maven’s eyes widened and she swallowed. “What are you talking about?”

“You were never meant to be Demavend’s champion.  You were meant to be his.”

“Who’s?”

“Iorveth’s. He faces a great labor, the outcome of which will determine the fate of the Aen Seidhe in this world.  Help him, guide him, protect him.  He’s a bastard…I know better than most, but unfortunately he’s also our best hope.”

Maven shook her head, “I don’t believe in any of this, champions, destiny, fate…It’s like a child’s fairy tale.”

Cedric smiled and sighed, “You also know that belief matters little in the face of the truth.  Please Maven, promise me, you’ll not let him face what lies ahead on his own?”

“I promise Cedric,” she said.

The dying elf sighed and pressed his head back against the tree.  A breeze stirred the tree branches and Geralt returned to Cedric and Maven.  “What’s happening?” Cedric’s eyes grew wide, “The forest… I feel a presence.”  Maven looked around, it felt like many eyes were suddenly upon them, with them in Cedric’s last moments. 

“They come to bid you farewell,” Geralt said. 

“My forest,” he said with a contented smile, “Va fail Gwynbleidd.  Va fail Maven. Farewell.”

With that, Cedric passed.


	53. The Second-Best

Geralt watched as Maven wept.  Tears streamed down her cheeks and sobs wracked her small frame.  “Why?” she asked him, “I have all these abilities.  Why can’t I even save the people I care about? Why?”

She punched a tree root. Geralt had never been good at comforting weeping women, but he felt like he owed it to Cedric to at least try.  He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ve asked myself the same question often enough.  Next come the recriminations ‘If only I’d been faster or stronger or smarter,’ but all of that is foolishness.  Fighting death is always a losing battle, Maven.  The best we can do is delay the inevitable.  Cedric had more time than most and he died honorably.  That’s all any of us can ask for.”

She rubbed her face with her sleeve, “You give lousy pep talks.”

He smiled sadly, “I’ve been told that.”

“But you’re right and crying won’t change anything.”  Maven stood and dusted off her trousers.  They began walking back toward Lobinden in contemplative silence.  Not far from the village they encountered Dandelion and Zoltan running toward them on the path.

“Geralt, did you find Triss?” Dandelion asked.

“The kingslayer forced her to teleport them to Aedirn”

“He fled? Shit.” Zoltan replied.

“Roche sent me to find you,” Dandelion said, “Loredo has fled and he needs help tracking him down.  Something about an oath to a harpy.  You wouldn’t know anything about that would you, Maven?”

Maven appeared to be fascinated by some twigs on the forest floor.  “So how about that weather we’re having?  It’s getting a bit chilly,” she replied.

Geralt snorted, “Tell him I’m a witcher, not a bounty hunter.”

“How are things in Flotsam?” Maven asked.

Dandelion eyed her speculatively, “After Loredo’s men were defeated it was as if the gates of hell had been opened.  Rulers are always looking to cover their mistakes and the mob always loves a circus, whether merry or bloody.  A ‘spontaneous riot’ started with some of Loredo’s men in civilian garb at the head, when all of a sudden Roche and his Blue Stripes descended upon the square.  They jailed the ringleaders and declared martial law before much could happen besides a few smashed windows.” 

“It was bizarre to behold,” said Zoltan, “The murderers of so many elves and dwarves acting as their defenders.  Like seeing tits on a bullivore.”

“Yes,” agreed Dandelion, “apparently Roche had received damning intel on Loredo from an unnamed source, who demanded he protect the non-humans in repayment.  Now Loredo is on the run and no one can locate him.”

“The Scoia’tael have also requested your presence,” Zoltan said to Geralt, “They want to storm the barge and they need your help.”

“Since when did you join the Scoia’tael?” Geralt asked sarcastically.

“It’s not like that,” he replied heatedly, “They’re taking the prisoners to Drakenborg. A special prison for nonhumans.  Bloody monument to human hatred!”

He saw Maven’s eyes go wide and then harden.

“Alright, I’ll talk to the Scoia’tael.  Maybe they can finally be useful.”

“I’m coming with you,” Maven said.

“That’s probably for the best,” Dandelion said, “Roche is looking for you as well.”

“Looking for me in a friendly way or a hunting me down kind of way?” she asked grimacing.

“More of a ‘where do I keep the good thumb screws’ kind of way.”

“Well at least I get the good thumb screws.  I’d hate to merit only the second best.”

“I’m glad you two find this so amusing,” Zoltan groused, “the lass is in real danger from that sour-faced pissant.”

“I’ll be fine, Zoltan, I’m more worried about Marcin, Viktor, and Anezka.”  She turned to Dandelion, “Do you think he’d question them?”

“If he can’t find you, it’s likely.”

“Can you get word to them?  Tell them to cooperate with Roche and tell them thank you.  Lobinden is the first place that felt like home to me in a long time and it’s because of them.”

Dandelion nodded and Maven and Geralt headed toward the elven ruins to speak with Iorveth.  Zoltan ran ahead to inform the Scoia’tael of their approach.

“You’ll leave them all behind?” Geralt asked, “Just like that.”

Maven nodded, “Just like that.  A clean break is best.  Then they don’t know where you’ve gone.  It protects me from whoever is after me and protects them from trying to lie.”

“You’ve done this before,” said Geralt after a moment.

“More times than I’d like,” replied Maven.


	54. Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling

Maven climbed the path to Cáelmewedd.  Her side and ankle had healed so there was very little to distract her from the events on the past day.  So much had happened in the past 24 hours but she felt strangely numb.  Just yesterday she’d shared a drink with Cedric and now her friend was dead.  She’d had a home and a job and now she was on the run again.

_It never ends. I’m like a pebble tossed by the tides, eventually it’s going to erode me down to nothing._

She reflected on Cedric’s words.  Maven didn’t like to think ill of the dead, but he had to be wrong.

_Fate doesn’t exist.  It’s just the random entropy of the universe that begins to look like a pattern the harder you stare at it. I’m no one’s champion, least of all Iorveth’s._

As Maven and Geralt entered the ruined garden, the elf himself stood before them.  Iorveth was next to a smoldering cooking fire speaking to Zoltan, Elaine, and another elf that she didn’t recognize.  The unmarred side of his face was in profile, his dramatic high cheekbones and proud nose in relief.  With his arms crossed and mouth set in a tight line; he was the picture of concentration as Zoltan spoke to him. 

_He’s been leading a rebellion for over 100 years.  What could he possibly need the help of a mutant freak for?_

Iorveth spoke to the elf at his side gesturing with his hands to convey his point.  He was every inch the leader and the others hung on his every word.  Maven sighed.

_Yep, he absolutely does not need my help.  Nope, that guy has no need of a champion.  He’s smart and cunning and witty and kind of sweet and…_

The dwarf gestured toward the entrance and Iorveth’s emerald gaze lifted to Maven and Geralt.  Maven’s breath caught as Iorveth’s sharp stare latched onto her wide-eyed gaze.

_…way too hot.  I am in such deep shit._

Maven and Geralt continued walking toward the group.

“Maven,” Iorveth asked, “What are you doing here?  And you’ve been crying, what happened?”

He looked concerned. “Cedric is dead,” she replied, “He was defending Triss from Letho.  Geralt and I were with him when he passed on.”  She sniffled.

Iorveth sighed, “The poor old drunken bastard. His death won’t go unavenged if I have anything to do with it.”

Iorveth’s gaze shifted to Geralt.  “Where is Letho?”

“He forced Triss to teleport them both to Aedirn,” Geralt replied.

“No,” Iorveth exclaimed in dismay, “the Scoia’tael in Aedirn will pay for my stupidity with their lives.  Ele’yas ready the unit to march.  You’ll leave immediately.”

“That’s two days travel on foot.  You’ll never make it in time,” Geralt point out.

“I have a plan,” the elf replied purposefully.

“Zoltan mentioned something about a prison barge?” asked Geralt sardonically.

Iorveth glared at the dwarf, “You’re incapable of keeping a secret, aren’t you?”

“I’ve no secrets of yours worth keeping,” the dwarf fired back.

“Since Zoltan has already proved so informative,” he turned to Geralt, “agree to help us and I will tell you the rest.”

Geralt looked at Maven, “What do you think, little archer?”

“You’re both going to the same place after the same guy.  Makes sense to me,” she replied.

“Count me in. We’ll get Letho together,” replied Geralt.

“Excellent,” said Iorveth with a smile, “We’ve no time to lose.  I’ll explain the rest on the way to Flotsam.  You should return home, Maven.”

She sighed, “Things finally boiled over in Flotsam.  I got Roche to stop the riot before it got too out of hand, but now he’s looking for me and I can’t go back.  For some reason, he thinks I’m…things…thinks I’m things I’m not.”

Iorveth raised his eyebrows, “You got the Blue Stripes to protect Aen Seidhe against other humans?”

Maven smiled and shrugged, “I’m talented like that.”  

“Talent is your ability with a dagger,” he replied, “Getting a man to go against his very nature is more akin to witchcraft.”

_Oh, sweet cheeks, you have no idea._

“That was Roche’s opinion as well,” she said ruefully.

 _“_ You’ll have the protection of Scoia’tael until you can return home,” he said grimacing slightly.

_He seems a bit conflicted about that.  Well I’ll keep my weirdness and feelings to myself and try not to give him cause to regret it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a line from one of my favorite poems, "Dover Beach" by Matthew Arnold.


	55. A piece of lembas

Iorveth walked with Geralt, Maven, and Zoltan back toward Flotsam and told them of his plan to storm the prison barge and sail it to the dwarven town of Vergen. 

“You plan to enter a town controlled by Vernon Roche?  I take back what I said- you’re not grandiose, you’re mad,” said the witcher.

“My mother claimed likewise,” Iorveth quipped.

“Smart lady,” said Zoltan.

Maven snorted, “I assume you don’t plan on banging on the front gate.”

“We’ll not enter the town,” he assured her.

“Good,” said Dandelion, who seemed to appear out of nowhere, “because the place is in chaos. Loredo is still missing and Roche is preparing to leave town.”

“Any idea where he’s going?” Iorveth asked.

“No, when I returned without Geralt all he said was that he was leaving and no longer required my services.”

 “To be fair, you were a terrible spy,” said Zoltan.

“It was getting boring anyway,” said the bard.

Iorveth turned back toward the witcher, “We’ll divide the unit.  Take my best scouts and attack from the harbor.  I’ll head downriver with the others.  With the town in disarray there should be few guards on the docks.”

Maven looked at him, “So we use the chaos to our advantage.  Attack and get out of there before anyone realizes what’s going on.”

“Precisely.”

“Let’s get this over with then,” said Zoltan.  He seemed annoyed at Iorveth’s presence.

_The feeling is mutual dwarf._

“We shall separate on the cliffs.  Scoai’tael, evelienn. Vrihedd!”

Calls of Vrihedd echoed among his men.

They made their way along the outer walls of the city toward the cliffs above the harbor, encountering little resistance.  Ioveth looked up at the great stone edifice and laid his hand upon the rough surface. 

“What is it?” Maven asked as she retrieved her dagger from a newly-made corpse. 

“Want to hear something funny?” he said, “I made life a living hell for the dh’oine of Flotsam, yet I’ve never been there.”

“You aren’t missing much, except for this one elven food cart.  They had these little sweet honey cake things…delicious,” she replied licking her lips at the memory.

“Lembas,” he replied, “I’m rather fond of them myself.”

“Lembas? Really?” Maven asked with one raised eyebrow, “One of these days you and I are going to have a conversation about our favorite authors.”

“But anyway, as far as Flotsam goes, I think you give yourself too much credit,” she laid a hand on his arm, “The people here live in a hell of their own making.  You stew in hate and violence long enough and eventually that’s all you know.”

“What does that say about me?” he replied looking down into her hazel eyes, “I’ve been immersed in violence for over a hundred years.”

Maven looked like she was about to reply when Zoltan called out, “Stop lollygagging you two.”

_Damn that dwarf, one of these days I’m going to put his pants on a very high shelf and hide all the stepladders._

The group made their way toward the cliffs.  Once there, Iorveth turned to Geralt. “We part here, Eanvedd will lead you down to the port.”

A ship was leaving the harbor as they watched, “That’s Roche’s ship.  I wonder where they’re going?”

“No idea, but I have a feeling we’ll meet again soon,” Iorveth replied.


	56. Top of the World

Geralt and Zoltan began heading toward the cliffs. Iorveth turned to Maven, “And I suppose this is where we part ways as well.”

“You want me to go with Geralt?” she asked, confused.

“No,” he said with exasperation, “with Roche gone you can return home. If you wish.”

“I promised Ciaran I’d get him off that barge,” she replied.

“Maven, where we’re going its likely to be dangerous and I…I don’t.  You should go home.”

Maven looked at Iorveth.  His jaw was set and his hands were fisted at his side.  He seemed like a tightly drawn bow string ready to snap.

“Do you want me to go home?” she asked quietly.

All the air seemed to leave his lungs and his shoulders slumped.  “It might be for the best.” 

Maven felt a tightness in her chest at the thought of Iorveth sailing away into danger without her.  She recalled Cedric’s dying words.

_I’m still not sure I believe in fate, but if something happens to him in Vergen that I could have prevented?  I don’t think I could live with myself._

She tried to imagine not seeing Iorveth anymore, her life absent of his sardonic wit and mischievous smirk.

_I’m not ready to miss him yet._

“No,” she said.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“No, I’m not going home.  You’re stuck with me for the time being. I mean I can’t very well abandon you.  You seem like you need all the help you can get. Plus, who will stop you from murdering Zoltan and Dan?”

His mouth twitched with a smile, “Ah, so you’re coming purely for their sakes.”

She laughed, “Yup, that’s me, all altruism.  So, what’s the plan?”

Iorveth guided Maven and his half of the Scoia’tael unit to the edge of the harbor.  Silently, they slipped through the reeds and up the side of the prison barge.  Iorveth gave the signal and the Scoia’tael launched themselves over the rail.  The elves had already engaged the guards in close quarters combat when Maven scrambled over the side.

_I’m much better at jumping off these than climbing onto them._

She looked up to see Iorveth taking on two guards.  Maven didn’t know much about sword fighting, but it was obvious that Iorveth was highly skilled.  Watching his sword play was like watching the finest ballet. 

 _Damn, I may have to have him teach me some of that. Purely for self-defense of course…not because I love watching him move like that._      

Maven was shaken from her reverie once a few of the guards realized she was there.  She easily evaded their clumsy swipes and began to take them out with hand to hand combat punctuated with judicious use of her dagger.  More guards began to pour onto the boat from the docks until they were distracted by Geralt’s swinging broadsword and the other Scoia’tael.  Eventually they were all reunited on the prison barge and the Scoia’tael were able cast off from the dock.

As they began to pull away, a cry rang out through the harbor, “I knew you’d partner with those hate mongers, mutant!”  Maven looked up to see Loredo standing atop the old harbormaster’s tower brandishing a torch and manhandling an elven woman.

_He’s not talking to you.  He doesn’t know.  Also, “hate mongers?” Talk about projection._

Loredo continued, “Thought you could sic your dog Roche on me, did you Witcher?  Thought you could kill my mum and get away with it?  Well, no one crosses Bernard Loredo.  I’ll burn these elven sluts alive and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”  

Iorveth closed his eyes and turned away.  “We sail,” he said resolutely, “Our women are prepared to die.”

Maven locked eyes with Geralt. He nodded and turned to Iorveth, “But I’m not prepared to let murder happen. We’re going ashore.”

Maven and Geralt leapt onto the pier as Loredo lobbed the torch onto the roof of the tower.  The old wooden tiles quickly caught fire.  They raced down the docks cutting down any resistance in their path and reached the tower just in time to see Loredo disappear through the passageway back to the town square.

“You take Loredo,” Maven said, “I’ll get the women.” 

Geralt looked like he was about to protest.  “Just go,” she called over her shoulder as she sprinted to the tower door.  Maven placed her shoulder against the door but it refused to budge.  She drew a breath and stepped through the wood and into the tower.  It was already starting to go up in flames.  She raced up the ladder, coughing on the gathering smoke.  On the top level three elven women were bound hand to foot. Maven began cutting the ropes with her dagger. 

“The way in is blocked.  We’ll have to jump into the river,” she yelled over the crackling flames.  The first two elves quickly jumped from the balcony once they were freed, but the third hesitated.

“I can’t swim,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” replied Maven, “I won’t let you drown.  Just don’t panic when you hit the water and I’ll be right behind you.”

The blonde elf hesitated.  Maven was running out of patience and the tower was running out of structural integrity.  She shoved the elf over the railing into the river and followed quickly after.  Her last thought before she hit the water was….

 _This again._   


	57. Swing swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I'm back. Things have been a bit nuts with work and family, but hopefully I'll get back to a regular posting schedule. Enjoy!

After Geralt had split from Maven, he ran toward the town square.  A few guards opposed him, but an Igni sign sent them jumping into the harbor to put out their burning trousers.  Once he was though the gates, Geralt found Loredo standing at the foot of the scaffold brandishing a halberd. 

“I’ll do the world a favor by killing you, mutant,” he cried before rushing Geralt.  The Witcher prepared to cast at just the right moment when…

Twang

A bolt flew from a nearby archway and embedded itself in Loredo’s arm.  The halberd fell from Loredo’s nerveless grasp and a second bolt brought him to his knees. Vernon Roche stepped from the shadows.

“Bravo, Bernard,” Roche slow-clapped as he walked toward the man writhing on the ground in pain, “You decided to slither back as soon as you thought the coast was clear.  You’re nothing if not predictable.”

Roche hauled the big man up with some difficulty.  “Give me a hand will you, Geralt.” The Witcher stepped forward and steadied Loredo, while Roche bound the man’s hands.

“Come on, Bernard.  I’m not done with you yet,” Roche said almost cheerfully as he took one arm and Geralt took the other. “Well look at how considerate you are Bernard, getting caught so close to the scaffold.  We barely have to drag you 10 feet.”

At that the large man began to curse and struggle ineffectually against his bonds.  Geralt and Roche manhandled him up onto the scaffold. 

“Not that I don’t think he doesn’t deserve it, but are you sure this is the best course?” Geralt asked Roche.

“Enough,” snapped Roche, “While you were busy playing Scoia’tael, my men and I have been hunting this traitorous scum all over Flotsam.”

Vernon strung the rope around Loredo’s neck.  Bernard balanced precariously on his uninjured leg, blubbering and begging for mercy.  Roche was immune to his pleas.

“I, Vernon Roche, by my authority as captain of the Blue Stripes and commander of his Majesty’s special forces hereby sentence you, Bernard Loredo, to hang from the neck until dead for the crime of treason against the sovereign state of Temeria.  May the gods have mercy on your soul, for I shall have none.”

With that, Roche pulled the lever and Loredo fell through the trap door.  With his bulk, his neck quickly snapped.  Geralt heard the creaking of the rope swaying back and forth like a grotesque pendulum as he turned back toward Vernon.       

“You may tell that little witch, Maven, that my debt to her is fulfilled.  If I see either of you again you’ll taste Temerian steel.”

“You’re letting us go?” Geralt asked confused.

“Not really,” replied Roche, “I’m just giving you a head start.  My ship will be heading back to Flotsam by now.  You’ve not much time before she traps you and those Squirrels in the harbor.”

With that Geralt took off sprinting back toward the prison barge.  He could hear Roche call after him as he left.

“Tell Iorveth I look forward to a rematch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see Roche as being similar to Tommy Lee Jones character in "The Fugitive." No way he'd let Loredo get away.   
> "What I want out of each and every one of you is a hard-target search of every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse, and doghouse in that area."


	58. To Vergen

Iorveth watched the burning tower.  One and then a second elven woman jumped from it into the river.  No further activity could be seen other than the flames licking their way through the rickety structure. The smell of burning singed the air.  He could feel his heart thudding in his chest.  Every moment felt like an eternity as he waited for Maven to emerge.  

_Come on Maven. Where are you, dammit? You have to come back…come back to me._

The elven women were being fished out of the river when Geralt returned to the barge.  “It was all a ploy to lure out Loredo.  Roche is still in Flotsam and the Blue Stripes are returning to port.  We have to sail now.”

“No, Maven is still…” he gestured toward the tower.

“We have to go now, Iorveth,” the vatt’ghern said laying a hand on Iorveth’s shoulder, “or all this will have been for nothing.”

Iorveth turned toward the tower just in time to see the last elf and Maven finally jumped into the river below.  Iorveth released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as Maven began swimming back to the barge dragging the last elf girl through the water. At that moment the Blue Stripes’ ship came back around the bend, directly into the path of the Scoia’tael controlled barge.  The dh’oine arbalists were not yet in range but they soon would be.  Iorveth quickly scaled the rigging and nocked an arrow in his bow.  The dh’oine might not be able to reach him with their puny crossbows, but the distance was nothing to an elven archer.  His first arrow sailed between men and bits of rigging to embed itself in the hand of the Blue Stripe manning the helm.  The large dh’oine’s hand was pinned to wheel as Iorveth fired off another shot, which caught the man in the throat.  In his death throes, he fell to the deck dragging the wheel with him.  The ship veered sharply to port taking out the end of a long dock and grounding the boat on some muddy shoals.     

With their way now clear, Iorveth swung down from the rigging and went over to where Maven and the girl, Mottle, had been pulled from the Pontar.  He strode over to Maven who was shivering from her exposure to the cold autumn river water. “Prepare to set sail for Vergen,” he called to his men as he drew his jacket around the small dh’oine.  Wind filled the barges sails and they left the port just in time to see an irate Vernon Roche stamping his foot wooden boards of the broken dock.

With a self-satisfied smirk, Iorveth slide an arm around Maven’s shoulder and drew her toward the main cabin.  She continued to shiver in her singed, drenched clothes and her lips had turned an alarming shade of purple.  Once inside Iorveth began digging through the trunks until he found a clean man's tunic, a pair of leggings with relatively few holes, and a pair of thick wool socks.  "They're a bit large but they should suffice until your clothes dry out."  Maven took off his jacket.

“Sorry, it’s all wet,” she said between shivers.

“No matter,” he said with a slight smile, taking it from her.

Maven had managed to remove her jacket, but her numb hands were making it difficult to undo the buttons of her vest.  

"Here," he said, "Let me."  He removed his gloves and knelt in front of Maven, pushing her hands aside.  He tried to focus on the buttons rather than the wet shirt plastered to her flesh just beneath.

"N-not n-necessary," Maven ground out between chattering teeth.  

"You rescued our women…we are indebted.”

"Anyone w-would have..."

"No," Iorveth said rising up to slide the vest from her shoulders, "Very few would have. Myself included."

He began undoing the ties of her blouse, but faltered slightly over her breasts.

_She's wet and half frozen don't be a cad._

She interrupted his thoughts, "I c-can do the the rest."

He stepped away and turned toward the cabin door as she pulled the wet blouse up and over her head.  Maven sat down with a huff on a bunk and began yanking off her boots.  A gush of water came with each one.  She began fighting with the ties to her leather pants.  After a few minutes of stuttered cursing, she called to him, "S-sorry...P-please...."

Iorveth knelt beside the bunk and tentatively reached out for the wet, knotted ties at her left hip.  The leather strips had become so sodden they had swollen together and Iorveth was forced to lean in and use his teeth to loosen the recalcitrant knot.  The tip his nose brushed against her cold, bare flesh as he did so, and he felt her sharp intake of breath.  He drew back and focused on pulling apart the ties until the knot finally gave and the pants could be drawn apart.  A small triangle of milk white skin was revealed beneath. Iorveth barely resist caressing a single freckle that he saw there, instead stepping away as if burned.  He turned away once again, as Maven redressed in the dry clothes.

“All done,” she called out.  Iorveth turned to see Maven drying her hair with the blanket from the bunk.  It was high enough that her feet didn’t reach the floor, that and the overly large clothes made her seem impossibly small and vulnerable.  Iorveth felt a tightness in his chest, remembering the agonizing minutes before she’d reemerged from the tower.

“For a moment, I thought that you weren’t going to return,” he said quietly.  

“Hate to disappoint,” she quipped, “But it seems like you’re stuck with me.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said walking over and sitting next to her, “I’m trying to be serious, Maven.  I thought I might not see you again and found that I didn’t like the idea.”

Iorveth contemplated the floor boards for a moment until he felt a small, cool hand slide into his own.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “the idea of not seeing you again doesn’t sit too well with me either.”

Iorveth turned toward Maven and found her regarding him with a rueful and somewhat sad look.  Their shoulders brushed, and their joined hands rested on his thigh.  She was so close he could make out individual flecks of green in her eyes.  Iorveth swallowed, his mouth suddenly drier than it ought to be.

_Gods, I’m like a green boy of 30 all over again. Not knowing how to talk to a woman._

“I suppose we’ve become accustomed to one another,” he said roughly, “Maven, I…”

He was interrupted by the slam of the cabin door.

_Somebody better be dying…_

“Commander”, said Eanvedd, “we’ve found Ciaran.”


	59. Lazarus

Geralt hung back as Iorveth, Maven, and Elaine bent over the unconscious Ciaran.  He’d been stripped down to a pair of worn leggings and looked as though all of Triss’s healing had been undone by the guards’ tender mercies in the two days since they’d last been here.  Unfortunately, this time they didn’t have a sorceress to knit together broken bones.

“He has a skull fracture and several broken ribs that have probably lacerated the organ beneath.  We can make him comfortable at least,” said Elaine with a sigh.

Geralt stepped forward, “I have some potions that might help him heal…”

“What’s the catch?” asked Elaine.

“They’re meant for a Witcher’s metabolism, so he may end up dying in agony instead,” he replied with a shrug.

Maven had been silent up until this point.  “That won’t be necessary,” she said quietly, “Elaine can you get the others to leave please.” 

Elaine looked to Iorveth, who seemed completely stricken by the state of his first officer.  He nodded silently as he held Ciaran’s hand.  Elaine shooed the other Scoia’tael from the room.  Geralt refused to be moved however.  He saw Maven lay a hand on Iorveth’s shoulder.

“Iorveth, whatever happens don’t stop me.  Now stand back,” she led the Scoia’tael a few paces away before kneeling by Ciaran’s side.  She locked eyes with Iorveth one last time, before laying her hands on Ciaran’s chest and giving the dying elf her entire focus.

At first, Geralt couldn’t detect any changes.  Then he began to notice movement in Ciaran’s torso, as if his broken ribs were realigning themselves into place. Bruises and gashes that marred his skin were beginning to fade.  Geralt looked back at Maven, she was taking steadying breathes.  He noticed bruises starting to form on her face that mirrored the ones that had been on Ciaran’s.  Maven’s arms began to shake, and she let out a whimper of pain.  This roused Iorveth from his stupor.  The elf moved towards her until he was blocked by Elaine.

“She said not to interfere,” the female elf said taking Iorveth by the shoulders.

Iorveth looked like he was about to argue when Maven let out another cry.  Tears were streaming down her face as she finally released Ciaran.  Iorveth broke free of Elaine’s grasp and caught her as she swayed backward. 

“Ow, that hurt.” Maven said and then promptly passed out.

“Maven, stay with me,” Iorveth said in a panic.  He felt for her pulse and when he found it, seemed to calm down considerably. “She’s alive.”

“That’s good,” said a voice from the floor, “Now what did I miss?”

Iorveth, Elaine, and Geralt all stared at Ciaran, who was trying to sit up from the wooden deck.  He was cradling his now unbroken head. 

“Damn, I have one hell of a headache,” he said, “Thanks for the rescue though.  Took you long enough…”

Ciaran continued to prattle on to the silent onlookers.  Geralt tuned him out and laid his hand over his wolf medallion.  He realized that in all the time that Maven had been healing Ciaran, it hadn’t vibrated once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ciaran lives!!!


	60. Distrust

Iorveth carried Maven into what was meant to be the captain’s cabin and laid her on the bunk.  She’d yet to regain consciousness, but she didn’t seem to be in any danger.  Her breathing was normal, though she did seem slightly warmer than average.  Maybe humans just ran hotter than elves.  He wasn’t sure. 

Ciaran, on the other hand, was completely back to his old self.  Making off color remarks and flirting with anything on two legs.  He was getting up to speed with Elaine on the goings on since his capture and the current plan to sail to Vergen.  Iorveth brushed a stray curl from Maven’s forehead.

“You swore to me you weren’t a sorceress,” he said with a sigh.

The vatt’ghern said he’d detected no magic from her and Iorveth supposed he would know, but Iorveth couldn’t imagine any other explanation for what they’d all seen.  For now, those who had been in the room were sworn to secrecy. 

“This makes no sense,” he said to himself and the unconscious woman, “Nothing about you makes sense.”

It would be a little while before they reached the rendezvous point with Ele’yas’ men.  Elaine and Ciaran could handle things for a bit.  He sat down taking Maven’s hand into his own. 

“You appear from nowhere.  Go from not knowing how to hold a bow to crack shot in a few weeks.”

He rubbed small circles with his thumb across the back of her hand.

“You help the Aen Seidhe, make deals with the Blue Stripes, and heal without magic.  Next, I’ll find out you can fly,” he joked.

He continued knowing that she couldn’t hear him.

“For a moment, when we were sitting together, on the bunk, I thought you might kiss me.  I wanted you to; I wanted to lay you down on that bunk and kiss you until you were all I could taste.  Bury myself in your soft warmth and forget everything just for a little while.  Gods, I’m such a fool, because whatever just happened has made me I realize I don’t even know you.  Not really.”

“It’s funny you know,” he said to the unconscious woman, “I don’t know whether to be more impressed by your skill at dissembling or horrified by the fact that I fell for it.”

 He sat there for a few moments longer, torn between his anger at Maven for all she had omitted and his gratitude for her saving Ciaran.  Finally, he rose and tucked her in under a quilt.  He quietly left the cabin, telling Adair to look in from time to time and alert him of any change in her condition.  Once he was back on deck, he noticed Geralt stood at the rail of the now moving barge.  "So, the ship sailing was all a ploy?" said Iorveth.

"Yes," the witcher replied, "Roche pretended to leave to draw Loredo out and capture him."

"He was successful?" asked Iorveth leaning nonchalantly against the rail.

"Loredo is currently swinging from the gallows.  Vernon always gets his man."

Iorveth smirked, "But not always his elf.  Roche keeps his word I'll give him that."

"He's honorable."

"He can afford to be,” Iorveth quipped, “You chose the right side, vatt’ghern, and I am pleased"

"Wish I could be so sure,” the Witcher replied scanning the river.  He turned to Iorveth, “Just help me find the kingslayer and Triss and we’ll be even.” He studied Iorveth for a bit as if he were an endrega larvae under glass. 

“What?” Iorveth barked fidgeting at the rail.

“Maven, did you know she could…” he trailed off.

“Of course not,” the elf replied impatiently.

“She’s been keeping secrets, might be keeping more.”

The conversation was making Iorveth agitated.  He didn’t like the idea that the little dh’oine had taken him for a fool and what that might mean.  Was she using him in some way?  The way Nilfgaard had used him against the North.  The way Letho had used him to kill Foltest. The way Geralt was using him now to find his sorceress.  The way Vergen would use him to defeat Kaedwen.

They came around the bend to the rendezvous spot.  Elaine let out a complicated bird call, which was returned and the rest of the Scoia’tael emerged from the brush ready to board the barge. 

“We’ll discuss this later,” Iorveth replied, “I want to hear what sort of explanation she gives.”

He walked toward Ele’yas and hoped that whatever explanation Maven had, it was a good one.


	61. A World Apart

Maven awoke with a gasp; her hand went to her throat where she still felt the phantom weight of the collar.  Her dreams about the camp were always muddled and hazy.  She recalled the packed earth of the main yard.  It had been trod over so many times nothing, but the most tenacious weeds could grow.  She couldn’t remember much else, someone crying, the smell of death, and the feeling of being watched.  They had always been watching.  Maven took a few calming breathes.

_That’s over. You’re safe.  For now, at least._

Someone had taken the time to lay her on a bed and cover her with a blanket.  A plate of bread and cheese rested nearby.  She quickly decimated it.  Her stomach growled for more and Maven gingerly eased herself off the bunk.  She was loathed to leave the solitude of the cabin, knowing that as soon as she did the others would press her for answers.  

_Hopefully, they’re satisfied with the truth.  I don’t think I have the energy to invent a convincing lie.  St. Jude, just please don’t let them throw me into the Pontar.  I don’t think I can handle another swim._

Two bouts of healing in as many days had left her exhausted and physically wrecked.  Maven limped over to the door to the main cabin leaning heavily on the jamb as she pushed it outward.  Iorveth, Geralt, Zoltan, and Ciaran stood around a map on a large table.  Dandelion took notes in the corner and Elaine lounged by the door cleaning her nails with a dagger.  Iorveth gestured with his pipe.

“We will dock here and Elaine will carry word to the Scoia’tael of Serrit and Auckes’ treachery.  Hopefully we will be in time.  Ciaran, you and Ele’yas will march the rest of the commando to the outskirts of Vergen.  Geralt and Zoltan will accompany me to rendezvous with the rebel commanders.”

“Where does that leave me? Darning socks by the fire?” Maven called from the doorway.  The room fell silent. 

_Not a great start.   Maybe I should get out my water wings._

Iorveth didn’t even deign to look in her direction. “You have your assignments now go, the lot of you,” he barked.  Ciaran cast her a sympathetic glance as he headed out the door with Elaine and Dandelion.  Zoltan stomped over, “I’m not sure I feel comfortable leaving the lass alone in your presence.”

Ioveth sneered at the dwarf, “Try me and we’ll how well you swim with those stubby legs of yours.”

The dwarf considered for a moment before leaving with the obligatory threats and curses.  Iorveth glanced at Geralt, “You too, vatt’ghern.”

“I’m comfortable right here, thanks,” Geralt said leaning against the table.  Iorveth snarled before stalking over to Maven.  He studied her for a bit.  As the silence lengthened, Maven became progressively more nervous.  His usually familiar face was shuttered and unreadable. She gulped, “You’re awfully quiet.”

Iorveth slammed his hand onto the door jamb next to her head.  “I’m trying to decide if you think me stupid or gullible.” His face finally shedding its mask to reveal unadulterated fury. “Is there anything you’ve ever told me that was true?”       

Maven looked up defiantly, “I said I was from far away and I am.  I said I’m not a sorceress and I’m not.  I never lied to you.  I just omitted a few details.”

“Details?!” Iorveth shouted, “You call what you did ‘details.’ You healed Ciaran by touch alone. Apparently, or so the vatt’ghern informs me, without the benefit of magic. So, would you care to shed some light on these oh so conveniently omitted ‘details.’”

With that, Iorveth crossed his arms to await her answer.  Maven sighed and rubbed her temple, her head was throbbing.  Finally, she lifted her head.  “It’s simple really,” she said, meeting his green gaze, “I’m a mutant.”

“There’s no such thing as a female witcher,” Geralt replied.

Maven shook her head, “I never said I was a witcher.  I wasn’t made into a mutant. I was born this way, as were my parents before me.”

“Witchers can’t have children,” Geralt pointed out impatiently.

“Again, not a witcher,” Maven said with frustration, “Where I’m from there are some people that are born with abilities, my mother called them gifts, beyond that of normal humans.  Some call us the gifted, but to most we’re mutants or freaks or worse...” She shivered.

Iorveth shook his head as if he didn’t know what to think, “So, you were born with the ability to heal by touch?”

“No, not exactly. I was born with the gift of memory,” she said with a slight smile.

“Memory?” asked Geralt, coming forward.

“I remember everything. Every moment of my life. Everything I’ve done or said.  Every book I’ve ever read,” she replied, “My muscle memory develops at an accelerated rate as well.”

“While that may explain how you went from novice to skilled archer in a matter of weeks,” Iorveth pointed out, “It doesn’t explain how you healed Ciaran.”

At this Maven ceased to make eye contact.  Her headache was getting worse and she sunk down into a nearby chair. “My mother,” her eyes became unfocused and the memories threatened to well up.  Maven drew a deep breath, tamping them back down, “She could heal people, take the sickness out of them and into herself.  It wasn’t as severe as the original injury and she healed quickly.  She used her gift on me and my body learned how to replicate it.  I’m not as good at it as she was.  I avoided using it for a long time,” Maven drew a deep breath and looked up at all of them.  They were staring at her, weighing her words. 

Geralt crossed his arms and contemplate her a moment more, “You said that in your homeland, ‘some people’ are born with these gifts.  Makes it sound like there are others like you.  I’ve travelled pretty far, and I’ve never come across such a place.  Sounds like you may be from farther away than Kovir or even Ofir.”

Maven ran her fingers through her hair “Yeah, this is the part that’s going to sound really insane…”

“More insane than being a female mutant with healing powers and an eidetic memory?” said Iorveth incredulously, throwing up his hands.

“I think I was brought here from another world, something like the Conjunction of Spheres on a mini-scale.  Not sure. The world I’m from is really different from this one, there’s no magic or strange beasts.  I can’t prove it of course…,” she shrugged, “I don’t really expect you to believe me.  In your position I wouldn’t believe me either.  Just let me off on land, instead of tossing me overboard.  I’m not in the mood for another swim.”

Geralt paused, a slow smile came to his lips, then his shoulders began to shake.  Before long he was laughing, shaking his head as he chuckled.

“What?” Maven asked, defensive, “It’s the truth.”

Geralt laughed, “Actually, that makes a lot more sense than you realize. You aren’t descended from any mythical elven mages are you?”

Maven looked confused, “No, what does that have to do with anything?”

He walked over and patted her on the shoulder, “Remind me to tell you about my daughter sometime.  I think you two would get along.” 

“I’m just glad you’re not throwing me overboard,” she mumbled.  With that Geralt left the cabin.

 Maven turned back towards Iorveth, “I think I broke his brain.”

“I doubt anyone will notice,” replied Iorveth, “Even if this story of yours is true, which frankly beggars belief, one thing still bothers me.  You pretended to be an average dh’oine. Why? What did you hope to gain?”

Maven slumped her shoulders and took her head in her hands, “Do you think the elves have a monopoly on being persecuted?  I wasn’t sure that I could trust you.  Non-mutants tend not to react very well when they find out about us.”

Iorveth scoffed, “You mean they fear you, and rightly so. Those men and beasts you killed, they never stood a chance did they.  And they had no idea that so much lethality was wrapped up in such a pretty little package, if they’d known they’d have run the other way.”

At this Maven surged to her feet, grabbing onto the front of Iorveth’s jacket.  Her rage temporarily allowing her to power through the pain.  “I wish they ran,” she hissed, “I wish they fled at the sight of us, but they were many and we were few.  They hunted us down.  Killed everyone they couldn’t capture.  I watched my friends and family die and there was nothing I could do about it, so I passed for normal when I could and ran when I couldn’t.  I spent years on the run before they finally caught up to me. Do you want to guess what happened after that?”

Iorveth stared down at her.  “They put a collar on me and threw me in a kennel, like a dog.  We had to be kept separate you see, for the safety of the general population and to keep us from spreading our defective DNA.”

 The fractured memories welled up.  She’d put up mental blocks to keep them from overwhelming her but the sights and sounds of the prison camp, the weight of the collar.  It overflowed the dam and flooded her consciousness.  “I lost a year of my life in that place.  Do you know what that’s like, when the world decides to throw you away like so much garbage?”

“Damn you,” she said in her fear and rage, bringing her small fists to pound on Iorveth’s chest, “Damn you, for making me think about it.  I don’t judge you for the things you had to do to survive.  Don’t you dare judge me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those of you not steeped in X-men lore, Maven is from the version of Earth where mutants have been put in internment camps. There's a couple story lines where this happens in the comics and I'll be expounding on the one she comes from in subsequent chapters as she opens up to Iorveth and Geralt a bit. Suffice it to say, Maven comes from a very bad, dark place, arguably a hellscape if one is a mutant. Understandably, our girl's got some issues.


	62. The Vrihedd

“Don’t you dare judge me,” Maven said in her frenzy.

“I don’t,” Iorveth said griping her shoulders, “I don’t judge you.  Gods know, I’m in no place to.”  Maven stilled and let out a sob.  He steadied her as she fell against his chest.  All the fight seemed to go out of her and they sunk to the floor. Iorveth cradled her in his arms and stroked her back while whispering comforting nonsense in elvish the way his mother had when he’d had a nightmare. She drew in deep sucking breathes between her cries.

Maven’s breathing steadied after a bit but he continued to hold her.

_Don’t mind having her in your arms, do you?  You, old lecher._

He tried to banish the thought.  Not that it would matter.  He kept stepping in it where she was concerned.  He’d been angered by all the things she’d kept from him.  She’d lied to him by omission, misrepresented herself to him.  Of course, on further reflection, it made a great deal of sense why she wouldn’t trust him. If even half of what she’d said of her past was true, then she’d have precious little reason to trust anyone.  That was another thing they had in common, they’d both taken a battering and still lived mostly due to their own tenacity.  Plus, she’d helped him in countless ways including saving his best friend’s life.  Most shocking of all, she didn’t judge him for his past, hell even Saskia judged him, and they had been allies for years.  

“I do know what it’s like,” he whispered into Maven’s hair.

“Hmm?” she asked.

“I know what it’s like to be cast aside by the world,” he cleared his throat, “During the last war with Nilfgaard, I was an officer in the Vrihedd brigade, a company composed of Aen Seidhe.  We struck hard against the Northern Kingdoms, hopeful that our loyalty to the empire would grant us a place and some autonomy within it.  We were fools of course.  When the Nilfgaardian forces fell, they arranged a transfer of prisoners for their officers, with the exception of the Vrihedd.”

Maven turned to look at his face, “What happened?”

He turned away unable to make eye contact as he was overcome with emotion, “There are supposed to be rules for prisoners of war, but apparently they don’t extend to elves and dwarves.  My brothers- and sisters-in-arms were slaughtered.  Their bodies desecrated and thrown into the Hydra Ravine.  My commanding officer and I were the only ones to escape.”

He turned back to gaze into her solemn hazel eyes.  “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Me, too,” he replied.  “Sometimes, I dream of them. I see them reaching out to me and begging me to join them.”

“Survivor’s guilt,” she said numbly, “I’ve got some experience with that.”

“I’ve lost a lot of people, but I didn’t today,” Iorveth continued to stroke her back, “Thank you for Ciaran.”

“Don’t thank me,” she quipped, “you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with him for the next century or so.”

“Don’t remind me,” Iorveth deadpanned, “I’m sure he’ll turn this brush with death to his advantage.”

“God,” Maven shuddered, “he’ll probably use it as a pick-up line.”

“It’ll probably work, too,” Iorveth said smiling.

Maven looked up at him laughing.  Her eyes sparkled, and a small dimple appeared on her cheek.  Iorveth’s heart stuttered slightly and all the blood flow to his brain was briefly directed to other, lower portions of his anatomy.  

_No, she’s distressed and in pain. The last thing she needs is a horny elf mauling her._

He had just leaned back, when a crash and a cheer sounded on deck.

Iorveth sighed, “I should probably see what’s going on out there.”

He helped Maven to stand and made sure she was steady on her feet before he stepped away.

“I think its best if we keep your unique skills quiet at present,” he said, “Only a few know the cause of Ciaran’s miraculous recovery.”

Maven nodded her assent, and Iorveth headed onto the deck and towards his waiting commando.


End file.
